Anne McCaffrey Pern 00 Threadfall

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Also by Anne McCaffrey

DRAGONFLIGHT
DRAGONQUEST

THE WHITE DRAGON

DRAGONSONG

DRAGONSINGER: HARPER OF PERN
DRAGONDRUMS

MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN
DRAGONSDAWN

GET OFF THE UNICORN
THE SHIP WHO SANG
DECISION AT DOONA
RESTOREE

THE RENEGADES OF PERN

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

ALL THE WEYRS OF PERN

THE CHRONICLES OF PERN: FIRST FALL
THE DOLPHINS OF PERN

BANTAM PRESS

LONDON ú NEW YORK ú TORONTO ú SYDNEY ú AUCKLAND

TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS LTD
61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
': ~NSWORLD PUBLISHERS (AUSTRALIA) PTY LTD
ú --. ~', .',., 15-25 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW 2170
':~TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS (NZ) LTD
?:3 William Pickering Drive, Albany, Auckland

Published 1996 by Bantam Press
a division of Transworld Publishers Ltd
Copyright cAnne McCaffrey 1996

The right of Anne McCaffrey to be identified as the author

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Page 1

of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77
and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All of the characters in this book
are fictitious, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 0593 037707

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may
be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording,
or otherwise, without the prior permission of
the publishers.

Typeset in 11pt Linotype Times by Kestrel Data, Exeter, Devon.

Printed in Great Britain by
Mackays of Chatham plc, Chatham, Kent.

This book is most respectfully
dedicated to
Dieter Clissmann
who sorts out my various computers
and never fails to answer my pleas for HELP!

Acknowledgements

The Dragonriders of Pern series has become more and more
complex so, to keep me on the right path, I have called upon
the services of several devoted fans and readers: in this case,
Marilyn and Harry Alm, Fay Ann Reynolds, Bunny Hagerty
in the New Orleans group for continuity, common sense and
critical analysis and Magi D. Shepley for teacher-speak. Harry,
once again, has used his naval engineering background to
supply required technical details.
I am, as ever, deeply indebted to these folks for despite
masses of lists and records, I can still put in essentials that a
new reader might not understand without a brief explanatory
phrase. And for these insights I acknowledge my long-
suffering editor, Shelly Shapiro.

1 Early Autumn at Fort's Gather

2 Gather at Fort

3 Late Autumn at Telgar Weyr

4 Life in the Weyrling Barracks and at the College

5 Weyrling Barracks and Bitra Hold

6 Telgar Weyr, Fort Hold

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7 Fort Hold

8 Telgat Weyr

9 Fort Hold and Bitran Borders - Early Winter

10 High Reaches Boll Holds, Ista Benden Weyr,
Ista Hold - High Reaches Fort Holds and
Telgat Weyr

11 The Trials at Telgat and Benden Weyrs

12 High Reaches and Fort Holds

13 Bitra Hold and Telgat Weyr

14 Turn's End at Fort Hold and Telgat Weyr

15 New Year 258 A(fter) L(anding) - College,
Benden Hold, Telgat Weyr

16 Cathay, Telgat Weyr, Bitra Hold, Telgar

17 Threadfall

102

129

148

165

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193

210

229

243

261

283

300

326

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List of Characters

WEYRLEADERS:
K'vin - Charanth
Zulaya - Meranath
M'shall - Craigath
Irene - Maruth
S'nan - Magrith
Sarai - Lanath
B'nurrin - Ianath
Shanna - Haralth
D'miel - Ronelth
Laura - Jemath
G'don - Chakath
Mari - Susuth

LORD HOLDERS:
Fort
Nerat
Telgat

Bitra

High Reaches

Benden

Tillek
Boll
Ista

Telgar
Telgar
Benden
Benden
Fort
Fort
Igen
Igen
Ista
Ista
High Reaches
High Reaches

Paulin
Franco
Tashvi
Salda
Chalkin
Nadona - children: Chaldon,
Briskin, Luccha, Lonada
Vergerin - uncle, brother to
Kinver, late Holder
Jamson
Thea
Gallian - oldest son
Bridgely
Jane
Bastom
Azurry

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Richud - ardent angler

Crom newly formed, acronym of
founders

OTHERS:
Angie - green Prath
B'ner - Miginth - deceased Telgar Weyrleader
Bethany
Bilwil - Debera's horse
Boris, Ganmar, Lavel
Brookie - small holder at Bitra
Cherry - Captain Kizan's young wife
Chomas - woodworker
Chrislee - head chef
Clisser - head teacher at College, guitar
Corey - head medic
Danja - violinist
Debera - green rider, Morath
Domaize - head portraitist
F'tol - wingleader at Bitra
Farley - minor Fort Holder
Fendler - woodsman
Ferina - small holder at Bitra
Fredig - designer, weaver
Frenkal - medic, Tillek
F'tol - elderly green rider
Gardner - teacher
Gisa - Debera's stepmother
Gollagee - tenor at Telgar
Gorianth Spelth - bronzes
Grasella - dark Istan
Hegmon - vintner
Iantine - recently accredited artist
Issony - teacher, formerly of Bitra
J'dar - bronze rider, Telgar
Jemmy - young genius
Joanson - medic, South Boll
Jule - green rider, Plath
Kizan - Tillek shipmaster

L'sur - bronze, Vuroth
Layrence - teacher
Leopol - helper lad at Weyr
Lozell - harpist
M'leng - green, Sith
M'rak - young bronze rider, Canith
Macartor - previous painter at Bitra
Maranis - head medic at Telgar Weyr
Mattew - Paulin's son
Mesla - green rider
Milla - Debera's deceased mother
Morinst - rapist at Bitra border
N'ran - Fort Weyr medic/animal doctor, brown Galath
O'ney - older bronze rider, Queth (dictatorial)
P'tero - blue, Ormonth
Palvi - head engineer
S'mon (aka Thomas) - Tiabeth
Sallisha - elder didactic teacher

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Sarra - blonde Istan green rider
Sheledon - composer
Shulse - mathematician
Sidny - Paulin's nephew
Sydra - soprano, spouse of Sheledon
T'dam - Weyrlingmaster - Kessuth
T'lan - older brown rider
T'lel - brown, Banuth
T'red - brown rider - Telgar
T'sen - green - Telgar
Timore - engineer
Tisha - large headwoman
Trader Jol, Lillencamp train
Ussie - decorator
V'last - bronze Collith, wingleader
Waine - Telgar painter/joat
Z'gal - blue, Tracath - Telgar
Z'ran - brown rider

Prologue

Rukbat, in the Sagittarian sector, was a golden G-type star.
It had five planets, two asteroid belts, and a stray planet it
had attracted and held in recent millennia. When men first
settled on Rukbat's third planet and called it Pern, they had
taken little notice of the stranger planet, swinging around its
adopted primary in a wildly erratic orbit - until the desperate
path of the wanderer brought it close to its stepsister at
perihelion.
When such aspects were harmonious, and not distorted by
conjunctions with other planets in the system, the wanderer
brought in a life form which sought to bridge the space gap
to the more temperate and hospitable planet.
The initial losses the colonists suffered from the voracious
mycorrhizoid organism that fell on them were staggering.
They had divorced themselves from their home planet, Earth,
and had cannibalized the colony ships, the Yokohama, the
Bahrain and the Buenos Aires, so they would have to im-
provise with what they had. Their first need was an aerial
defence against the Thread, as they named this menace. Using

highly sophisticated bio-engineering techniques, they
developed a specialized variant of a Pernese life form which
had two unusual, and useful, characteristics: the so-called
fire-lizards could digest a phosphine bearing rock in one of
their two stomachs and, belching forth the resultant gas, create
a fiery breath which reduced Thread to harmless char. The
second of their unusual qualities were the ability to teleport
and an empathy which allowed limited understanding with
humans. The bio-engineered 'dragons' - so called because
they resembled the Earth's mythical creatures - were paired
at hatching with an empathic human, forming a symbiotic
relationship of unusual depth and mutual respect.
The colonists moved to the northern continent to seek
shelter from the insidious Thread in the cave systems which
were called 'holds'. The dragons and their riders came, too,
housing themselves in old volcanic craters or Weyrs.

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The First Pass of Thread lasted nearly fifty years and
what scientific information the colonists were able to gather
indicated that Thread would be a cyclic problem, occurring
every two hundred and fifty years as the path of the wanderer
once again approached Pern.
During this interval, the dragons multiplied and each
successive generation became a little larger than the last,
although optimum level would take many, many more genera-
tions to reach. And the humans spread out across the northern
continent, creating holds to live in, and halls in which to train
young people in skills and professions. Sometimes folks even
forgot that they lived on a threatened planet.
However, in both Holds and Weyrs, there were masses of
reports, journals, maps and charts to remind the Lords and
Weyrleaders of the problem: and much advice to assist their
descendants when next the rogue planet approached Pern and
how to prepare for the incursion.
This is what happened two hundred and fifty-seven years
later.

Dragons in squadrons wove, and interwove sky trails, diving
and climbing in wings, each precisely separated by the
minimum safety distance so that occasionally the watchers
thought they saw an uninterrupted line of dragons as the close
order drill continued.
The skies above Fort Hold, the oldest of the human
settlements on the northern continent, were brilliantly clear
on this early autumn day: that special sort of clarity and depth
of colour that their ancestors in the New England sector of
the North American continent would have instantly identified.
The sun gleamed on healthy dragon hides and intensified the
golden queen dragons who flew at the lowest level, sometimes
seeming to touch the tops of the nearby mountains as they
circled Fort. It was a sight to behold, and always brought a
thrill of pride to those who watched the display: with one or
two exceptions.
'Well, that's done for now,' said Chalkin, Lord Holder of

Bitra, the first to lower his eyes, though the fly-past was not
yet over.
He rotated his neck and smoothed the skin where the
decorative embroidered border of his best tunic had scratched
the skin. Actually, he had had a few heart-stopping moments
during some of the manoeuvres, but he would never mention
that aloud. The dragonriders were far too full of themselves
as it was, without pandering to their egos and an inflated sense
of importance: constantly appearing at his Hold and handing
him lists of what hadn't been done and must be done before
Threadfall. Chalkin snorted. Just how many people were
taken in with all this twaddle? The storms last year had been
unusually hard, but then that wasn't in itself unexpectaNe, so
why were hard storms supposed to be a prelude to a Pass?

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Winter meant storms.
And this preoccupation with the volcanoes going off. They
did periodically anyway, sort of a natural phenomenon, if he
remembered his science orientation correctly. So what if three
or four were active right now? That did not necessarily have
to do with the proximity of a spatial neighbout! And he was
not going to require guards to freeze themselves keeping an
easterly watch for the damned planet. Especially as every
other Hold was also on the alert. So what if it orbited near
Pern? That didn't necessarily mean it was close enough to be
dangerous, no matter how the ancients had gone on about
cyclical incursions.
The dragons were just one more of the settlers' weird
experiments, altering an avian species to take the place of the
aircraft they had once had. He'd seen the airsled which the
Telgar Foundry treasured as an exhibit: a vehicle much more
convenient to fly in than aboard a dragon where one had to
endure the black-cold of teleportation. He shuddered. He had
no liking for that sort of ultimate cold, even if it avoided the
fatigue of overland travel. Surely in all those records
the College was mustering folks to copy, there were other
materials that could be substituted for whatever the ancients
had used to power the vehicles? Why hadn't some bright lad
found the answer before the last of the airsleds deteriorated

completely? Why didn't the brainy ones develop a new type
of air-worthy vessel? A vessel that didn't expect to be thanked
for doing its duty!
He glanced down at the wide roadway where the gather
tables and stalls were set up. His were empty; even his
gamesters were watching the sight. He'd have a word with
them later. They should have been able to keep some
customers at the various games of chance even with the
dragonrider display. Surely everyone had seen that by now.
Still, the races had gone well and, with every one of the
wager-takers h/s operators, he'd have made a tidy profit from
his percentage of the bets.
As he made his way back to his seat, he saw that wine-
chillers had been placed at every table. He rubbed his
beringed fingers together in anticipation, the black Istan
diamonds flashing as they caught sunlight. The wine was the
only reason he had been willing to come to this Gathering:
and he'd half suspected Hegmon of some prevarication in the
matter. An effervescent wine, like the champagne one heard
about from old Earth, was to have its debut. And, of course,
the food would be marvellous too, even if the wine should
not live up to its advance notice. Paulin, Fort Hold's Lord,
had lured one of the best chefs on the continent to his kitchens
and the evening meal was sure to be good: if it didn't turn
sour in his stomach while he sat through the obligatory
meeting afterwards. Chalkin had bid for the man's services,
but Chrislee had spurned Bitra's offer and that refusal had
long rankled in Chalkin's mind.
The Bitran Holder mentally ran through possible excuses
for leaving right after dinner: one plausible enough to be
accepted by the others. This close to putative Threadfall, he
had to be careful of alienating the wrong people. If he left

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before the dinner... but then he wouldn't have a chance to
sample this champagne-style wine, and he was determined to.
He'd taken the trouble to go to Hegmon's Benden vineyard,
with the clear intention of buying cases of the vintage. But
Hegmon had refused to see him. Oh, his eldest son had been
apologetic - something about a critical time in t,he process

requiring Hegmon's presence in the caverns - but the upshot
was that Chalkin couldn't even get his name put down on the
purchase list for the sparkling wine. Since Benden Weyr was
likely to get the lion's share of it, Chalkin had to keep in good
with the Benden Weyrleaders so that, at the Hatching which
was due to occur in another few weeks, he'd be invited and
could drink as much of their allotment of wines as he could.
More than one way to skin a wherry!
He paused to twirl one of the bottles in its ice nest. Almost
perfectly chilled. Riders must have brought the ice in from
the High Reaches for Paulin. Whenever he needed some, he
couldn't find a rider willing to do him, Bitra's Lord Holder,
such a simple service. Humph! But of course, certain Blood-
lines always got preferential treatment. Rank didn't mean as
much as it should, that was certain!
He was surreptitiously inspecting the label of a bottle when
there was a sudden, startled intake of fearful breaths from the
watchers, instantly followed by a wild cheer. Looking up, he
saw he had just missed some sort of dangerous manoeuvre
ú . . Ah, yes, they'd done another mid-air rescue. He saw a
bronze dragon veering from under a blue who was miming
a wounded wing: both riders now safely aboard the bronze's
neck. Quite likely that Telgar Weyrleader who was such a
dare-devil.
Cheers were now punctuated with applause and some
banging of drums from the bandsmen on their podium down
on the wide courtyard that spread out from the steps to the
Hold down to the two right-angled annexes. Once again, both
the infirmary and the teachers' college were being enlarged,
if the scaffolding was a reliable indication. Chalkin snorted,
for the buildings were being extended outward, wide open
to any Thread which was purportedly supposed to start
falling again. They really ought to be consistent! Of course,
tunnelling into the cliff would take more time than building
outside. But too many folks preached one thing and practised
another.
Chalkin grunted to himself, wondering acidly if the archi-
tects had got Weyrleader approval for the design. Thread! He

,~ upshot i snorted again and wished that Paulin, chatting so cosily with
~ on the the two Benden Holders as he and his wife escorted them

eyr was
in good
g which
!ed and
~ could.

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Page 9

back to the head table, would hurry up. He was dying to
sample the bubbly white.
Rattling his fingers on the table, he awaited the return of
his host and the opening of the tempting bottles in the cooler.

Almost
n from
me, he
tolder.
Blood-
ean as

when
.m the
~p. he
euvre
~,aw a
'.ming
rlze's
~ch a

;ome
[own
~ the
both
ged,
'ted,
pen
tart
rse,
!ing
sed

K'vin, bronze Charanth's rider, put his lips close to the ear
of the young blue rider sitting in front of him. 'Next time wait for my
signal!' he said.
P'tero only grinned, giving him a backward glance, his
bright blue eyes merry.
'Knew you'd catch me,' he bellowed back. 'Too many
people watching to let me swing and give Weyr secrets away!'
Then P'tero waved encouragingly at Ormonth, who was now
flying anxiously at Charanth's wingtip. Though unseen from
the ground, the safety-tethers still linked the blue rider to his
dragon. P'tero unbuckled his end of the straps and they
dangled free.
'Lucky you that I was looking up just then!' K'vin said so
harshly that the brash lad flushed to his ear tips. 'Look at the
fright you've given Ormonth!' And he gestured towards
the blue, his hide flushing in mottled spots from his recent
scare.
P'tero yelled something else which K'vin didn't catch so he
leaned forward, putting his right ear nearer the blue rider's
mouth.
'I was in no danger,' P'tero repeated. 'I used brand-new
straps and he watched me braid 'em.'
'Hah!' As every rider knew, dragons had gaps in their
ability to correlate cause and effect. So Ormonth would
scarcely have connected the new straps with his rider's perfect
safety.
'Oh, thanks,' the rider added as K'vin snapped one of his

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own straps to P'tero's belt. Not that they would be doing more
than landing, but K'vin wished to make a point of safety to
P'tero.

25
While K'vin approved of courage, he did not appreciate
recklessness, especially if it endangered a dragon this close to
the beginning of Threadfall. Careful supervision had kept his
Weyr from losing any dragon partners and he intended tc
maintain that record.
Spilling off his blue before K'vin had passed the wort
was taking a totally unnecessary risk. Fortunately, K'vin hat
seen P'tero dive. His heart had lurched in his chest, even i
he knew P'tero was equipped with the especially heavy ant
long harness as a fail-safe. Even if he and Charanth had no
accurately judged the mid-air rescue, those long straps woul~
have saved the blue rider from falling to his death. Today'
manoeuvre had been precipitous instead of well-executed
And, if Charanth had not been as adept on the wing, P'ter~
might be nursing broken ankles or severe bruising as a resul
of his folly. No matter how broad, those safety straps real?.
jerked a man about in mid-air.
P'tero still showed no remorse. K'vin only hoped that th,
stunt produced the effect the love-struck P'tero wished. Hi
mate would have been watching, heart in mouth, no doub~
and P'tero would reap the harvest of such fear some time thi
evening. K'vin wished that more girls were available t,
Impress green dragons. It made that facet of Weyrleadershi]
considerably easier to deal with. There were still a few, c
course, but with parents keenly interested in applying fo
more land by setting up cotholds for married children, fewe
and fewer girls were encouraged to stand on the Hatchin
Grounds. While being a dragonrider didn't prevent a girl fror
having children, if that's what she wanted, it did prevent ther
from owning land. Still, grandchildren, even the Weyrbort
could claim land. Though, in actual fact, more Weyrbor
preferred to stay in the Weyr even if they didn't Impress.
The dragons who had taken part in the mass fly-by wer
now landing their riders in the wide road beyond the cour
Then they leaped up again to find a spot in which to enjo
the last of the warm autumnal sun. Many made for th
adjoining cliffs as space on Fort's heights filled up on eithe
side of the solar panels. Dragons could be trusted not to trea,

~preciate[
close to[
kept his
nded to

te word
vin had
even if
~vy and
~ad not
would
7oday's
ecuted.

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P'tero
result
really

~at the
d. His
~loubt,
~e this
)le to
ership
~W, of
:g for
fewer
ching
from
them
30rn,
born
;S.
were
3urt.
n joy
the
ther
'cad

on what remained of the priceless installations. Fort's were
the oldest, of course, and two banks had been lost last winter
to the unseasonably fierce storms. Fort, being the largest as
well as the oldest northern installation, needed all its arrays
in full working order to supply heat for its warren of corridors,
power for air circulation units and what equipment still
worked. Fortunately a huge stockpile of panels had been
made during the first big wave of constructing new Weyrs and
Holds. There would be enough for generations.
Weyrleaders sought their tables on the upper level with
Lord Holders and Professionals, while riders joined whatever
company they preferred at tables set up on the huge expanse
of the outer apron. Not a sprout of vegetation anywhere on
that plaza surface, K'vin noticed with approval. S'nan, Fort's
Weyrleader, had always been fussy and rightly so.
The musicians had struck up sprightly music and couples
were already dancing on the wooden floor set over the
cobbles. Beyond the dance square were the stalls, tents and
tables where goods were being sold or exchanged. There'd
been brisk business all day, especially for items needed during
the winter months when there would be fewer big Gathers.
The various Craftsmen would be pleased, and there'd be less
for the dragons to haul back.
Charanth was now circling over the annexes which had been
started to increase living space for both Pern's main infirmary-
research facility and teacher training. The dormitories were
also going to house volunteers who were assiduously trying
to save the records, damaged during last spring when water
had leaked down the walls of the vast storage caverns under
Fort. Riders had offered to spend as much time as possible
from their training schedules to help in the project. Everyone
who had a legible script was acceptable, and Lord Paulin had
done a bang-up job in making the copyists comfortable. The
other Holds had contributed material and work forces.

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The exterior buildings of the College were designed to be
Threadproof, with high peaked roofs of Telgar slate and
gutters which led into underground cisterns where errant
Thread would be drowned. All the Craftsmen involved,

including those destined to inhabit the facility, would have
preferred to enlarge the cave system, but there had been
two serious collapses of caverns and the mining engineers
had vetoed interior expansion for fear of undermining the
whole cliff-side. Even the mutant, blunt-winged, flightless
photo-sensitive watchwhers had refused to go on further
subterranean explorations which, their handlers insisted,
meant dangers human eyes couldn't see. So build externally
they did: stout walls more than two and a half metres thick at
ground level, tapering to just under two metres under the
roof. With the iron mines at Telgar going full 'blast, the
necessary structural beams to support such weight had posed
no problem.
The new quarters were to be finished within the month.
Even today there had been a work force, though they had
taken a break to watch the aerial display and would finish in
time for the evening meal and entertainment.
Charanth landed gracefully, with Ormonth right beside him
so that P'tero could remove the tethering safety straps before
they could be noticed. As he was doing so, M'leng, green
Sith's rider, came up to him, scolding him for 'putting my heart
in my mouth like that!' And he proceeded to berate P'tero
far more viciously than his Weyrleader would.
K'vin grinned to himself, especially as he saw how penitent
P'tero became under such a harangue. K'vin rolled up his
riding straps and tied them to the harness ring.
'Enjoy the sun, my friend,' he said, slapping Charanth on
the wide shoulder.
I will. Meranath is already there, the bronze dragon said,
his tone slightly smug as he executed a powerful upward leap,
showering his rider with grit.
Charanth's attitude towards his mate, Meranath, amused,
and pleased, his rider. No-one had expected K'vin to accede
to Telgar's Weyrleadership when it fell open after B'ner's
death nine months before. Who would have expected that the
sturdy rider, just into his sixth decade, had had any heart
problems? But that is what the medics said killed him. So,
when Meranath was ready to mate again, Telgar's senior

Id have Weyrwoman, Zulaya, had called for an open flight, leaving it
d been to the dragons to decide on the next Leader. She'd insisted

that she had no personal preference. She had been sincerely
attached to B'ner and was probably still grieving for him.
There had certainly been no lack of 'suitors'.
K'vin had sent Charanth aloft in the mating flight because
all the Telgar Weyr wingleaders were expected to take part,
as well as bronze riders from the other Weyrs. He had no real
wish to lead a Weyr into a Pass; he considered himself too
young for such responsibilities. He had observed from B'ner

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Page 13

that the normal duties of an Interval were bad enough, but
to know that a high percentage of your fellow-riders would
be injured, or killed, that the lives of so many people rested
on your expertise and endurance was too much to con-
template. Some nights, now, he was racked by terrifying
dreams, and Threadfall hadn't even started. On the occasions
when he was in Zulaya's bed, she had been understanding
and calmly reassuring.
'B'ner worried, too, if that's any consolation, Kev,' she said,
using his old nickname and soothing back sweat-curled hair
as he trembled with reaction. 'He had nightmares, too. Comes
with the title. As a rule, the morning after a nightmare, B'ner'd
go over Sean's notes. I figure he had to have memorized them.
I've seen you do the same thing. You'll do well, Kev, when
push comes to shove. I know it.'
Zulaya could sound so sure of something, but then she was
nearly a decade his senior and had had more experience as
a Weyrleader. Sometimes her intuition was downright un-
canny: she could accurately predict the size of clutches, the
distribution of the colours, the sex of babies born in the Weyr
and, occasionally, even the type of weather in the future. But
then, she was Fort Weyrbred, a linear descendant of one of
the First Riders, Aliana Zuleita, and knew things. It was odd
how the golden queens always seemed to prefer women from
outside the Weyrs, but sometimes a queen had a mind of her
own and chose a Weyrbred woman in spite of what had
become custom.
However, just like his predecessor, he constantly reviewed

accounts of the individual Falls, how they differed, how yol
could tell from the Leading Edge of Fall that this would be
an odd one. Most often the accounts were dry statements of
fact, but the prosaic language did not disguise the presence
of great courage: especially as those first riders had to figure
out how to cope with Thread, easy or hard.
The fact that he was a several times great-nephew of Sorka
Connell, the First Weyrwoman - and Zulaya pointed this out
more than once - constituted a secondary and subtle re-[
assurance to the entire Weyr. ~
'Maybe that's why Meranath let Charanth catch her,'~
Zulaya said, her face dead serious but her eyes dancing. 1
'Had you, I mean... did you think of me... I mean...~
K'vin tried to summon appropriate words two weeks after that!
momentous flight. He had been overwhelmed by her response
to him that night. But afterwards she had seemed very casual
in her dealings with him, and she did not always invite him
into her quarters, despite the fact that their dragons were
inseparable. ,~
'Who thinks at all during a mating flight? But I do believe
I'm glad that Charanth was so clever. If there is anything in
heredity, having a distant great-nephew of Fort Weyr's First
Weyrwoman - AND from a family that has put many
acceptable candidates on the Hatching Grounds - as Telgar's
Weyrleader gives us all a boost.'
'I'm not my many times great-aunt, Zulaya...'
She chuckled. 'Fortunately, or you wouldn't be Weyrleader,
but blood will tell!'
Zulaya had a disconcerting directness but gave him no real

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hint how she - the woman, not the Weyrwoman - personally
felt towards him. She was kind, helpful, made constructive
suggestions when they discussed training programmes but so
ú.. impersonal... that K'vin had to decide that she hadn't
really got over B'ner's death yet.
He himself was obscurely comforted that his distant great-
aunt had managed to survive Fall, and he would attempt to
do the same. As, he was sure, would his two siblings and four
cousins who were also dragonriders. Though no others were

Weyrleaders . . yet. Still, if his being of the Ruathan
Bloodline which had produced Sorka, M'hall, M'dani, Sorana
and Mairian offered reassurance to his Weyr, he'd reinforce
that at every turn during the Pass.
Now, at probably the last large Gather Pern would enjoy
under Threadfree skies for the next fifty years, he watched
his Weyrwoman leave the group of Telgar holders she had
been talking to and stride towards him across the open
courtyard.
Zulaya was tall for a woman, long-legged - all the better
for bestriding a dragon's neck. He was a full head taller than
she was, which she said she liked in him: B'ner had been
just her height. It was her colouring that fascinated K'vin: the
inky-black curly hair that, once freed of the flying helmet,
tumbled down below her waist. The hair framed a wide,
high-cheekboned face, set off the beige of her smooth skin
and large, lustrous eyes that were nearly black; a wide and
sensual mouth above a strong chin gave her face strength
and purpose which reinforced her authority with anyone. She
strode, unlike some of the hold women who minced along,
her steel-rimmed boot heels noisy on the flagstones, her arms
swinging at her sides. She'd had time to put a long, slitted
skirt over her riding gear and it opened as she walked,
showing a well-formed leg in the leather pants and high boots.
She'd turned the high riding-boot cuffs down over her calves
and the red fur made a nice accent to her costume, echoed in
the fur trim of her cuffs and collar which she had opened. As
usual, she wore the sapphire pendant she had inherited as the
eldest female of her Blood.
'So, did P'tero win M'leng's undying affection with that
stunt?' she demanded, an edge to her voice. 'They've gone
off together...' and she looked in the direction of the two
riders who were headed towards the temporary tents along
the row of cots.
'You might have a word with both later. They're afraid of
you,' K'vin said, grinning.
'For that piece of stupidity, I'll make them more afraid,'
she said briskly, hopping a step to match his stride. 'You really

should learn how to scow/ menacingly.' She glanced up
K'vin and then shook her head, sighing sadly. She had on
teased him that he was far too handsome to ever 1o~
genuinely threatening, with the Hanrahan red hair, blue e5
and freckles. 'No, you just don't have the face for it. Be t~
as it may, Meranath's going to give out to Sith for allowin~

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blue to put himself in danger.'
'Get 'em where it hurts,' K'vin said, nodding, becat
l~teranath was even more effective as a deterrent with 1
dragons than any human could be, even the dragon's o'
rider. 'Damned fool stunt!'
'However,' and now Zulaya cleared her throat, '~
Telgari_arts tb. ougb~t it ma~ "}'a~t ma~r~e~ous~." ' she added i
gushing tone. 'Especially since they won't get much chance
see the dive in real action.' Now she grimaced.
'Well, at least Telgarians believe,' K'vin said.
'Who doesn't?' Zulaya demanded, looking up at him.
'Chalkin, for one.'
'Him!' She had absolutely no use for the Bitran L~
Holder and never bothered to hide it.
'If there's one, there may be others for all the lip serv
they give us.'
'What? With Second Fall only months away from u
Zulaya demanded. 'And why, pray tell, do we have dragt
at all, if not to provide an aerial defence for the contine]
Oh, we provide transportation services, but that's not nea
enough to justify our existence.'
'Easy, lady,' K'vin said. 'You're preaching to the dedicate
She made a disgusted sound deep in her throat and ff
they had reached the steps up to the upper Court. She 1
her hand through his arm so that they would present'
proper picture of united Weyrleadership. K'vin stifled a s
that the accord was only for public display.
'And Chalkin's already into that new bubbling wine
Hegmon's,' Zulaya said irritably.
'Why else do you think he came?' asked K'vin as
deftly guided her away from the Bitran, who was smack:
his lips and regarding his wine glass with greedy speculati,

'Though today's also a chance for his gamesters to profit.'
'One thing sure, I hear tell he's not on Hegmon's list,' she
said as they reached their table which the Telgarians shared,
by choice, with the High Reaches Weyr and Hold leaders and
those from Tillek. The senior Captain of the Tillek fishing
fleet and his new wife completed the complement at their
table.
'That was quite a show you put on,' said the jovial ship's
master, Kizan, 'wasn't it, Cherry, m'dear?'
'Oh, it was, indeed it was,' the girl replied, clapping her
hands together. While the gesture was close to an affectation,
the young wife was clearly awed by the company she kept at
this Gather and everyone was trying to help her cope. Kizan
had let it be known that she came from a small fishing hold
and, while a capable ship's master, she had little experience
with a wider world. 'I've often seen the dragons in the sky,
but never so close up. They are so beautiful.'
'Have you ridden one yet?' Zulaya asked kindly.
'Oh, heavens, no,' Cherry replied, modestly lowering her
eyes.
'You may, and soon,' her husband said. 'We came overland
here to Fort for the Gather, but I think we'd better see how
good our credit is...'
'Very good, Captain,' said G'don, the High Reaches Weyr-

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leader, 'as you've never applied to us half as much as you're
entitled to.' Mari, his Weyrwoman, nodded and smiled en-
couragingly at Cherry's almost horrified reaction.
'What?' Kizan teased his bride. 'The woman who sailed
through a Force Nine gale without complaint is nervous about
flying on a dragon?'
Cherry tried to respond, but she couldn't find words.
~Don't tease,' Mari said. 'Riding a dragon is considerably
different to standing on your own deck, but I don't know many
people who refuse a ride.'
'Oh, I'm not refusing,' Cherry said hastily, startled.
Just like a child fearful of being denied a promised treat,
K'vin thought and struggled to keep from grinning at her.
'All of you, leave her alone,' said the Telgar Lady

Holder, scowling at them. 'I remember my first ride a.
dragonback...'
'Back that far, huh,' said her husband, Lord Tashvi, eyeint
her blandly. 'And yet you can't remember where you put tha
bale of extra blankets...'
'Don't start on that again!' Salda began, scowling, but it wa~
apparent to the others at the table, even young Cherry, tha
the Telgar Holders often indulged in such sparring.
'Have you not opened your wine?' asked an eager voic~
and they looked round at Vintner Hegmon, a stout, grey
haired man of medium height with a flushed face and
reddened nose which he jokingly called an occupationa
hazard.
'Do us the honour,' said Tashvi, gesturing to the chillec
bottles.
Hegmon complied and, in his experienced hands, the plu!
erupted from the bottle neck with speed and a 'plop'. Th~
wine bubbled up but he deftly put a glass under the lip bclbr~
a drop could be spilled.
'I think we've done it this time,' he said, filling the glass~~'
presented to him.
'I say, it does look exciting,' said Salda, holding up her gla~.
to watch the bubbles make their ascent. Thea, the
Reaches Lady Holder, did likewise and then sniffed at
glass. 'Oh, my word,' she exclaimed, putting a hand to
nose just in time to catch a sneeze. 'The bubbles tickle.'
'Try the wine,' Hegmon urged.
'Hmmmm,' Tashvi said and Kizan echoed the sentiment.
'Dry, too,' the Captain said. 'Go on, Cherry,' he urged
wife. 'It's quite unlike Tillek brews. They tend to be foxy
harsh. This'11 go down easily.'
'Ohhh,' and Cherry's response was one of sheer delight
'Oh, I like this!'
Hegmon grinned at her ingenuousness and accepted th~
approving nods from the others at the table.
'I quite like it, too,' Zulaya said after letting a sip slide dow~
her throat. 'Rather nice.'
'I say, Hegmon, wouldn't mind a refill,' and Chalkh

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34
appeared at the table, extending his glass under the mouth of
the bottle the Vintner held.
Hegmon kept the bottle upright and regarded the Lord
Holder coolly. 'There's more at your own table, Chalkin.'
'True, but I'd rather sample different bottles.'
Hegmon stiflened and Salda intervened.
'Leave off, Chalkin. As if Hegmon would offer an inferior
bottle to anyone,' she said and waved him off.
Chalkin hesitated between a scowl and a smile but then,
keeping his expression bland, he bowed and backed away
from the table with his empty glass. He did not, however,
return to his own table, but moved on to the next one where
wine was being poured.
'I could...' Hegmon began.
'Just don't supply him, Hegmon.'
'He's already insistent that I give him vine starts so he can
grow his own,' said Hegmon, furious at such importunity. 'Not
that he'd do that any better than any of those other projects
he starts.'
'Ignore him,' Zulaya suggested with a flick of her fingers.
'M'shall and Irene do. He's such a toady.'
'Unfortunately,' said Tashvi with a grimace, 'he's managed
to find like minds...'
'We'll settle him at the meeting,' said K'vin.
'I hope so,' Tashvi said, 'though a man like that is not easily
convinced against his will. And he does have a following.'
'Not where it matters,' Zulaya put in.
'I hope so. Ah, and here's food to soak up all this lovely
stuff before we're too muddled to keep our wits about us this
evening.'
Zulaya waved at the wine cooler. 'I doubt there's more
than two glasses apiece, scarcely enough to muddle us, though
it's lovely stuff.' And she sipped judiciously. 'Hegmon is
generous, but not overly so. And here's our dinner...'
She sat back as a swarm of men and women in Fort colours
began to distribute platters of steaming foods among the
tables. And bottles of red wine.
'You spoke too soon about muddling, Zuli,' K'vin said,

grinning as he served her roast slices from the platter before
passing it around the table.
They had finished their meal and all the wine before Paulin
rose from his table and signalled those in the upper Court to
follow him into the Hold for the meeting. Dancing was well
under way in the square and the music made a cheerful
processional.
K'vin hoped the musicians would still be playing when the
meeting ended. Despite the height of her, Zulaya was so ligh~
on her feet she was a pleasure to partner and, because he was
so tall, she preferred him as her partner too. And a full
orchestra of professionals was far more entertaining than the
half-trained if enthusiastic players currently in the Wey~'.
Different music, too.
'Ah,' said Zulaya appreciatively as they filed into For~'s
Great Hall, 'they've done a great job of freshening the murals.'
'Hmmm,' K'vin agreed, craning his neck around and h~-
peding Chalkin's entrance into the Hall. 'Sorry.'

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'Humph,' was Chalkin's response and he glared sourly ~t
Zulaya as he passed, shrugging his garments away from
touching them.
'Consider the source,' K'vin said when he thought Zulaya
might fire a tart comment after the Lord Holder.
'I want to be at Bitra when the first Fall hits his Hold,' she
said.
'Isn't he lucky, then, not to be beholden to us, but to
Benden.9' K'vin asked wryly.
'Indeed,' agreed Zulaya and allowed herself to be guided
to Telgar Weyr's usual seat at the big conference table. 'I
wonder did anyone get any sleep in this Hold the past week,'
she said, stroking the banner of Telgar's colours that clothed
their portion of the table. 'Makes such a nice display,' she
murmured as she pulled out the chair which also sported
Telgar's white field and black grain design.
The table itself was made up of many smaller units hooked
together, forming a multi-faceted circle: Telgar's Weyr and
Hold leaders were between High Reaches and Tillek since
they were the northernmost settlements. Across from them

were Ista Weyr and Hold, and Keroon Hold, with their
brilliant colours. Benden Weyr was seated with Bitra on one
side and Nerat and Benden on the other. The Chief Engineer,
the Senior Medic and the Headmaster were also included
in the meeting. Fort, traditionally the senior Hold, with
Ruatha and Southern Boll on either side, was at table centre
and this time was the 'Chair'.
'Now, if any of us still have our heads after Hegmon's fine
new wine, let's get this over with so we can get in some
dancing,' said Paulin, smiling around the table.
Chalkin banged the table in front of him with a very loud
'Hear, hear!'
K'vin stifled a groan. The man was half-drunk, if not all
drunk; his face flushed red.
'I'm sure we're all aware of the imminence of Thread-
fall...'
Chalkin made a rude noise.
'Look, Lord Chalkin,' said Paulin, scowling at the dissident,
'if you managed to get too much of the champagne inside your
skin, you can be excused.'
'No, that's exactly what he wants,' said M'shall, Benden's
Weyrleader, quickly. 'Then he can claim anything decided
today was done behind his back.'
'If he can't shut up, we can always hold his head under the
tap until he sobers enough to remember common courtesy,'
put in Irene, Benden's Weyrwoman. 'He doesn't like getting
his Gather clothes wet.' Her expression suggested she'd had
experience enough to know.
'Chalkin!' Paulin said, his voice steely.
'Oh, all right,' the Bitran said in a surly tone and he settled
himself more squarely in his chair, leaning forward on his
elbows at the table. 'If you're going to be that way...'
'Only because you are,' snapped Irene. Paulin gave her a
stern look and she subsided, though she kept narrowed eyes
on Chalkin for a while longer.
'Three independent calculations were made and there's no

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doubt that the Red Planet is getting closer . . . spatially
speaking.'

'Is there any chance of a collision?' asked Jamson of High
Reaches.
'Fraggit, Jamson,' Paulin said, 'let's not bring that up.'
'Why not?' said Chalkin, brightening.
'Because that ... improbability . .. has already been
discussed to the point of nausea,' Paulin replied. 'There isn't
a hint in any of the information collected by our forefathers
to indicate there is any chance of a collision between the two
planets. Or that they considered the... improbability... for
any reason.'
'Yes, but does it say anywhere that there can't be?' Chalkin
was obviously delighted with this possibility.
'Absolutely not,' Paulin said simultaneously with Clisse~
who was not only the College Head but the senior of the
trained astronomers. Paulin gestured for Clisser to continue.
'Captains Keroon and Tillek,' and he paused in reverence.
'both annotated the AIVAS report which included data fron~
the Yokohama's records. I have repeatedly reworked the
relevant equations and the rogue planet will Pass Pern on an
elliptical orbit that canNOT alter to a collision course with us
A matter of celestial mechanics and Rukbat's gravitationa
pull. I'd've brought the diagram of the orbits involved if I'C
had forewarning.' Clisser gave Chalkin a disgusted glare.
'Bad enough it brings in the Thread. Do you want to be
blown to smithereens, Chalkin.'?' asked Kalvi, chief of the
mechanical engineers. 'And I checked the maths, too~ sc
I concur with Clisser and everyone else who's done the
equations. Why don't you, if you're so worried?'
Chalkin ignored the jibe since he had never been noted fo~
scholarship in any field. He was also well pleased with the
reaction to his remark. No matter what they said, there wa~
no proof that they were really that safe.
'Now, calculations indicate early spring will bring the firs~
Threadfall of this Pass. There are several Falls which coulc
be live, depending on the weather conditions, mainly the
ambient temperature, at the time of Fall.' Paulin reachec
under his table then and hauled up a board on whic~
Threadfall areas had been meticulously delineated. S'nar

reared his throat, moving restlessly, as if he felt Paulin should
not have usurped a Fort prerogative. 'The first two will be in
Fort Weyr's patrol area, the second two in High Reaches' and
the third two in Benden's. These are due to occur in the first
two weeks, about three days apart. The second Fall in Fort
territory and the first one in High Reaches happen on the
same day - different flows of the same Fall. Also, we know
from the records that there will be live Falls over the Southern
Continent for about a week before the Falls commence here
in the North. S'nan,' and Paulin turned to the Fort Weyr-

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leader, 'may we have your progress report?'
$'nan stood, holding up his ubiquitous clipboard. (Rumour
had it that that item had been passed down from the Connell
himself.) He peered down at it a moment. The old Leader of
the premier Weyr on Pern resembled his several times
great-grandfather, though his silvery hair was more sandy than
red. Privately, K'vin didn't think Sean Connell had been such
a martinet, even if he had promulgated the rules by which the
Weyrs governed themselves. Most of these were common-
sensible, even if S'nan managed to pursue them into the
ridiculous.
'The first Fall,' S'nan began, and there was a touch of pride
in his voice, 'would start over the sea east of Fort Hold and
come ashore at the mouth of the river, passing diagonally
across the peninsula and out into the sea in the west. The
second two Falls, which will occur three days later, will be
over the southern tip of Southern Boll.' He used his stylus
and, at his most condescending, touched Paulin's chart. 'This
one may go south far enough to miss land entirely, and in any
case will be over land for only a short while - and over the
western tip of High Reaches, again proceeding out to sea, and
so over land for only a short time. The third Fall will start on
the south coast of the Tillek peninsula, east of the site of the
Hold, and proceed out to sea, again over land only for a short
time.'
'Thread giving us all a chance to get accustomed to fighting
it?' asked B'nurrin of Igen.
'Your levity is ill-placed,' S'nan said, but there were too

many grins around the table for his reprimand to affect the
irrepressible young Weyrleader. He cleared his throat and
launched once more into his discourse. 'The next two Falls
will be the most dangerous for unseasoned wings,' and he shot
a stern glance at B'nurrin as he found the proper Thread path.
'The first will start over the sea in the east and proceed over
Benden Weyr and Bitra Hold, ending almost at Igen Weyr.
This would normally be flown jointly by Benden and Igen
Weyrs. The second will start at the northern end of the Nerat
peninsula and proceed across it, over the east coast of Keroon
and the east tip of Igen, and end just offshore from Igen. This
also would normally be a joint Fall, flown by Benden over
Nerat, Igen over the northern part of Keroon, and Ista
over the southern part of Keroon.'
'We really do know what Falls we fly, S'nan,' M'shall said.
'Yes, yes, of course,' and S'nan cleared his throat again.
'However,' and his glance went to the Lord Holders seated
around the table, 'it was decided at the last meeting of the
Weyrleaders that, since any of these would be the first Fall
in our experience, every Weyr would supply a double-wing
at the initial engagement. Thus each Weyr would have
first-hand experience.'
'I still think we could all get that by hitting those first
Southern Falls,' B'nurrin began. 'If the dragons miss, it's not
going to fall on anyone's head or ruin any farmland.'
'B'nurrin!' M'shall said sternly before the startled S'nan
could open his mouth.
K'vin privately thought B'nurrin had a good idea and had

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backed him, but they had been overruled by the older
Weyrleaders. K'vin suspected that if he were to take some
wings down South for that first Fall there, he'd be likely to
find B'nurrin 'practising' there, too.
'I still think it's a good idea,' the Igen leader said, shrugging.
Pretending such an interruption hadn't even occurred,
S'nan went on. 'As was customary in the First Pass, Lord
Holders will supply adequate ground crews and have them
assembled as directed by the Weyrleaders. In this case,
Weyrleader M'shall.' He inclined slightly towards the Benden

bronze rider. 'Master Kalvi,' and he bowed courteously to the
Head Engineer, 'has assured me that his foundry has turned
out sufficient HNO3 cylinders to equip the ground crews, but
the HNO3 must be made up on site. As in the First Pass, the
labour and material are supplied by the engineer corps as part
of their public duty. You all should have received your full
allotment of tanks by Year's End.' S'nan paused and peered
at Kalvi who rose to his feet. The Fort Weyrleader was precise
in his language, scorning to use the term 'Turn' for a year
which was coming into use among the younger generation.
'I've scheduled every major Hold with three days of training
in the maintenance and repair of the flame-throwers and a
practice session which, I think,' and Kalvi grinned, 'you will
find comprehensive as well as interesting.' He shifted his
stance and would have gone on, but S'nan held up his hand
and gestured Kalvi to sit.
With a bit of a snort and a grin, Kalvi complied.
Now the Fort Weyrleader turned his glance to Corey. 'I
believe you also plan a three-day seminar to instruct major
and minor hold personnel in burn control and Thread... ah
... first aid.'
Corey did not rise but nodded.
'Lords Holder must assign suitable medics with every
ground control unit, or have one member of each trained in
first aid and supplied with kits containing numbweed, fellis
juice and other first-aid medications,' S'nan continued.
'Now,' and he flipped over the top sheet, 'I have done
pre-Pass inspections of all Weyrs and find them well up to
strength, with sufficient cadet riders to supply the wings with
phosphine rock during the Pass. I have discussed all aspects
of flight tactics and Weyr maintenance with the respective
Weyrleaders...'
K'vin writhed a bit on his chair, remembering the exhaus-
tive inspection carried out by S'nan and Sarai: they'd even
inspected the recycling plant! Then he noticed that G'don,
the oldest Weyrleader, was also squirming. So, the Fort pair
had spared no-one in their officious search for perfection.
Well, they were heading into a Pass and the Fort Weyrleaders

excess population to other Weyrs, but that could wait until
the yearly review.
'And, in conclusion, let me state that we are as ready as we
can be.'
'Far more ready than the First Riders were,' G'don

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remarked in his dry fashion.
'Indeed,' echoed Irene of Benden.
K'vin contented himself with a smile. Unbidden, a little
wiggle of fear shot up from his belly to chill him and he gave
himself a shake. He came from a Blood that had produced
First Riders and contributed many sons and daughters to the
Weyrs.
And you ride me, Charanth said firmly. I shall be formidable
in the air. Thread will fly in the other direction when it sees my
flame. And that was not all draconic boast, for Charanth had
racked up the Weyr Record for the length he achieved in
flaming practice. Together we meet Thread, not just you on
your own. I shall be with you and we shall overcome.
Thanks, Charrie.
You're welcome, Key.
'You've got that look in your eye, K'vin,' Zulaya murmured
for his ear alone. 'What's Charanth's opinion of all this?'
'He's raring to go,' K'vin whispered back, and grinned.
Charanth was right to remind him that he did not fly alone:
they were together as they had been from the moment the
bronze had broken his shell in half and stepped directly
towards a fourteen-year-old Kevin of the Hanrahans waiting

on the hot sands of Hatching Ground. And Kevin had realized
that that was the moment all his life had been aimed at:
Impression. He'd seen his older brother Impress, and his
second oldest sister, and three of the four cousins currently
riders. From the moment he was Searched out, part of him
had been sure-sure-sure, with all the fervour of an adolescent,
that he would Impress favourably. The negative side of his
personality had perversely suggested that he'd be left standing
on the hot sands and he'd never live down such a humiliating
experience.
'In conclusion,' S'nan said, 'let me assure this Gathering
that the Weyrs are ready.' With that, he sat down to an
approving applause. 'I hope that the Holds are, too?' Not only
did his voice end on an up-note but he raised his thick brows
questioningly at the Fort Holder.
Paulin stood up again, shuffling until he found the
right clipboard and cleared his throat. 'I have readiness
reports in from all but two major Holds,' and he glanced
first at Franco, Lord Holder of Nerat, and then tilted his
head towards Chalkin. 'I know you received the forms to fill
in...'
The tall, thin bronze-skinned Neratian raised his hand. 'I
told you the problem we have with vegetation, Paulin, and
we're still trying to keep it under control...' He grimaced.
'Not easy with the excellent weather we've been having and
the restriction against chemical deterrents. But I can assure
you that we'll keep at it. Otherwise, we have emergency
roofing for the seedling nurseries and sufficient stores of
viable seeds to replant when that's feasible. We're also
continuing our research into dwarfing plants for indoor
propagation. All minor holders are fully aware of the
problems and are complying. Everyone's signed up for
the ground-crew course.'
Paulin made a notation, nodding. 'Agriculture's still work-

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ing on the problem of an inhibitor for your tropical weed
types, Fran.'
'I hope so. Stuff grows out of pure sand without any
cultivation at all.'

Then Paulin turned to Chalkin who had been polishing his
rings with every evidence of boredom.
'I've had nothing at all from you, Lord Chalkin of Bitra,'
Paulin said.
'Oh, there's plenty of time...'
'A report was required by this date, Chalkin,' Paulin
reminded, pushing the issue.
Chalkin shrugged. 'You all can play that game if you wish,
but I do not believe that Thread is going to fall next spring,
so why should I bother my people with unnecessary tasks...'
He wasn't able to finish his sentence for the acrimonious
reactions from everyone at the table.
'Now see here, Chalkin...'
'Hey, wait a bleeding minute...'
'Just where do you get off...' Bastom was on his feet with
indignation.
Chalkin pointed one thick beringed finger at the Tillek
Holder.
'The Holds are autonomous, are they not7 Is that not
guaranteed in the Charter7' Chalkin demanded, rounding on
Paulin.
'In ordinary times, yes,' Paulin answered, waving a hand to
the others to be quiet. He had to raise his voice to be heard
over the angry remarks and protests. 'However, with...'
'This Thread of yours coming. So you say, but there's no
proof...' Chalkin said, grinning smugly.
'Proof7 What more proof do you need7' Paulin demanded.
'This planet is already feeling the perturbation of the rogue
planet...'
Chalkin dismissed that with a shrug. 'Winter brings bad
storms, volcanoes do erupt...'
'You can't so easily dismiss the fact that the planet is
becoming more visible...'
'Pooh. That doesn't mean anything...'
'So,' and Paulin again had to quell angry murmurs to be
heard, 'you discount entirely the advice of our forebears7 The
massive evidence that they left for our guidance7'
'They left hysterical...'

'They were scarcely hysterical...' Tashvi bellowed. 'And
they coped with the emergency, and gave us specific guidelines
to follow when the planet came back. And how to calculate
a Pass.'
'Hold it, hold it,' Paulin shouted, raising both arms to
restore order. 'I'm Chair, I'll remind you,' and he glared at
Tashvi until the Telgar Lord resumed his seat and the others
had quietened down. 'What kind of proof do you require,
Lord Chalkin?' he asked in a very reasonable tone of voice.
'Thread falling...' someone muttered, and subsided before

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he could be identified.
'Well, Chalkin?' said Paulin.
'Some proof that Thread will fall. A report from this
AIVAS we've all heard about...'
'Landing is under tons of volcanic ash,' Paulin said, and
then recognized S'nan's urgent signal to speak.
'Nine expeditions have been mounted to investigate
the installation at Landing and retrieve information from the
AIVAS,' S'nan said in his usual measured tones. As he spoke
he searched for and found a sheaf of plastic and held it up.
'These are the reports.'
'And?' Chalkin demanded, obviously enjoying the agitation
he had aroused.
'We have been unable to locate the administration building
in which the AIVAS was located...'
'Why not?' Chalkin insisted. 'I remember seeing tapes of
Landing prior to the first Threadfall...'
'Then you will appreciate the size of the task,' said S'nan.
'Especially since the blanket of volcanic ash covers the entire
plateau and we have not been able to locate any landmark
by which we could judge the position of the administration
building. And since the housing was similar, it's difficult to
establish where we are when we have dug one out of twenty
feet of ash and debris. Therefore we have not been able to
establish the location of the building.'
'Try again,' Chalkin said, turning his back to S'nan.
'So you have done nothing at all to prepare your Hold for
the onslaught?' Paulin asked calmly, reasonably.

Chalkin shrugged. 'I don't perceive a need to waste time
and effort...'
'And money...' murmured the original heckler.
'Precisely. Marks are hard enough to come by to waste them
on the off-chance...'
'OFF-CHANCE?' Tashvi erupted out of his chair. 'You'll
have a revolt on your hands.'
'I doubt that,' Chalkin said with a sly smile.
'Because you haven't bloody seen fit to warn your holders?'
Tashvi demanded.
'Lord Telgar,' Paulin said repressively, 'I'm Chair.' He
turned back to Chalkin. 'If the rest of us, however mis-
guideally, do believe in the forewarnings - backed by
irrefutable astronomical evidence of an imminent Pass - how
can you deny them?'
Chalkin's grin was patronizing. 'A space-borne organism?
That drops on a large planet and eats everything it touches?
Why wasn't Pern totally destroyed during previous visita-
tions? Why is it every two hundred years? How come the
Exploration Team which did a survey of the planet before it
was released to our ancestors to colonize... how come they
didn't see any evidence? Ah, no,' Chalkin said, flicking the
notion away from him with his beringed hands, 'ridiculous!'
'My calculations were confirmed by...' Clisser said, feeling
that he was being maligned.
'There was evidence of Threadfall,' Tashvi said, bouncing
once more to his feet. 'I've read the report. There were

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hundreds of circles where vegetation was just starting to
grow...'
'Inconclusive,' Chalkin said with another flap of a hand.
'Could have been caused by one of the many fungus
growths...'
'Well then, when this inconclusive evidence comes dropping
out of the skies onto your Hold, don't bother us,' Bastom said.
'Or come crying to my Hold for help,' added Bridgely,
completely disgusted by Chalkin's attitude.
'You may be sure of that,' Chalkin said and, with a mocking
bow to Paulin, he left the Hall with no further word.

46
'What are we going to do about him?' Bridgely asked,
'because sure as night follows day, he will come running for
aid to Franco and me.'
'There is provision in the Charter,' Paulin began.
Jamson of the High Reaches stared with wide and dis-
believing eyes at Paulin.
'Only if he believes in the Charter...' Bastom said.
'Oh, Chalkin believes in the Charter all right,' Paulin said
sardonically. 'The patent conferring the title of "Lord Holder"
on the original major northern Stakeholders is what gives his
line the right to Hold. And he's already used the Charter to
substantiate his autonomous position. I wonder if he also
knows the penalty for failing to prepare his Hold. That
constitutes a major breach of the trust...' 'Who trusts Chalkin?' Jamson put
in.
'... the trust which holders rest in the Lord of their Hold
in return for their labour,' finished Paulin.
'Ha!' said Bridgely. 'I don't think much of his holders either.
Useless lot on the whole. Most of 'era kicked out of other
holds for poor management or plain laziness.'
'Bitra's badly managed, too. Generally we have to return
a full half of his tithings,' M'shall said. 'Half the grain is
mouldy and timber unseasoned, hides improperly cured and
often rancid. It's a struggle every quarter to receive decent
supplies from him.'
'Really?' Paulin asked, jotting down notes. 'I hadn't
realized he shorted you on tithes.'
M'Shall shrugged. 'Why should you know? It's our
problem. We keep at him. We'll have to keep at him over
this, too, you know. Can't let him away with a total disregard
for the upcoming emergency. Not every holder in Bitra's
useless, Bridgely.'
Bridgely shrugged. 'Good apples in every basket as well as
bad. But I'd really hate to have to cope with the problem
come springtime and Threadfalls. Benden's too near Bitra for
my peace of mind.'
'So what is the penalty for what Chalkin's doing? Or, rather,
not doing?' Franco asked.

'Impeachment,' Paulin said flatly.
'Impeachment!' Jamson was aghast. 'I didn't know...'
'Article Fourteen, Jamson,' said Paulin, '"Dereliction of
Duty by Lord Holder". Can you give me a print-out on that,

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Clisser? Perhaps we all should have our memory refreshed
on that point.'
'Certainly,' and the Head of the College made a note in his
folder. 'In your hands tomorrow.'
'So your system's still working?' Tashvi asked.
'Copies of the most important official documents were made
in quantity by my predecessor,' Clisser replied with a relieved
smile. 'I've a list if you need any... handwritten but legible.'
Paulin cleared his throat, calling them to order. 'So, my
Lords Holder, should we proceed against Chalkin?'
'You've heard him. What option do we have?' M'shall
wanted to know, glancing about the table.
'Now, wait a minute,' began Jamson, scowling. 'I'd want to
have incontrovertible proof of his inefficiency as a Lord
Holder as well as his failure to respond to this emergency. I
mean, impeachment's an extreme step.'
'Yes, and Chalkin'11 do everything he can to slide out of it,'
Bastom said cynically.
'Surely there's a trial procedure for such a contingency?'
asked Jamson, looking anxiously about. 'You certainly can't
act without allowing him the chance to respond to any
charges.'
'In the matter of impeachment I believe that a unanimous
agreement of all major Holders and Leaders is sufficient to
deprive him of his position,' Paulin declared. 'Are you sure?' Jamson asked.
'If he isn't, I am,' Bridgely said, bringing one fist down
firmly on the table. His spouse, Lady Jane, nodded her head
emphatically. 'I haven't wanted to bring it up in a Council
before,' Bridgely began.
'He's very difficult to confront at the best of times,' said
Irene, setting her lips in a thin line of frustrations long borne.
Bridgely nodded sharply in her direction and continued.
'... He's come as near to bending, or breaking for that matter,

what few laws we do have on Pern. Shady dealings, punitive
contracts, unusual harsh conditions for his holders...'
'We've had some refugees from Bitra with stories that
wringing her hands in distress. 'I've kept records...'
'Have you?' Paulin said. 'I'd very much like to see them.
Autonomy is a privilege and a responsibility, but not a licence
for authoritarianism or despotic rule. Certainly autonomy
does not give anyone the right to deprive his constituents of
basic needs. Such as protection from Threadfall.'
'I don't know about going so far as to impeach him. I mean,
such an extreme remedy could have a demoralizing effect on
all the Holds,' said Jamson, his reluctance deepening.
'Possibly ...' Paulin began.
'Not being prepared for Thread will certainly demoralize
Bitra!' Tashvi said.
Paulin held up his hand as he turned to M'shall. 'Please
give me specific instances in which Bitra Hold has failed to
supply the Weyr. Jane, I'd like to look at the records you've
kept.'
'I've some, too,' Irene added.
Paulin nodded and looked round the table. 'Since his
dereliction of primary duty in regard to preparation against

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Threadfall could jeopardize not only his own Hold but that
of his neighbours, I feel we must examine the problem as
quickly as possible and indict him...' Jamson jammed up an
arm in protest, but Paulin held up a placatory hand. 'If, that
is, we do find just cause to do so. Just now, he was acting as
if he'd had too much of Hegmon's new wine.'
'Ha!' was Irene of Benden's immediate response, a cynical
reaction echoed by others around the table.
'We cannot allow personal feelings to colour this matter,'
Paulin said firmly.
'Wait 'til you read my notes,' was her wry answer.
'And mine,' added Bridgely.
'But who could take his place.'?' Jamson asked, now queru-
lous with anxiety.
'Not a task I'd like so soon to Thread,' Bastom admitted.

Paulin grimacedú 'But it may have to be done.'
'Ah, if I may,' and Clisser raised his hand. 'The Charter
requires us to find a suitable candidate from the incumbent's
Bloodline...' he began.
'He has relatives?' Bridgely asked, mimicking surprise and
consternation.
'I believe so,' Franco said, 'beyond his children. An uncle

'If they're of the same Blood as Chalkin, would that be an
improvement?' Tashvi wanted to know.
'They do say a new broom sweeps clean,' Irene remarked.
'I heard that Chalkin did his uncle out of succession by giving
him an isolated hold...'
'He got him out of the way fast enough, that's sure,' said
Bridgely. 'Some mountain hold, back of beyond.'
'All of Bitra is back of beyond,' Azury of Boll remarked,
grinning.
'A replacement is not the most immediate concern,' Paulin
said, taking charge again, 'if we can persuade Chalkin that all
of us can't be wrong about Threadfall.'
Zulaya this time snorted at that unlikelihood. 'He'll admit
he's wrong only when Thread is eating him... which might
solve the problem in the most effective way. Bitra's in the
path of the first Fall.'
'Remiss as Chalkin appears to be,' Jamson said, 'Bitra Hold
may be better off with than without him. You don't learn the
management of a Hold overnight, you know.'
Paulin gave the High Reaches Lord a long look. 'That is
very true, but if he hasn't even told his people that Thread is
coming...' and he opened up his hands to show dismay at
such an omission. 'That's a dereliction of duty right there. His
prime duty and the primary reason for having a Leader during
a crisis. As a group, we also have a responsibility to be sure
each of us is performing duties inherent to our rank and
position.'
Zulaya shrugged. 'It'd serve him right to be caught out in
the first Fall.'
'Yes, well,' and Paulin rattled papers. 'I'11 accept reports of

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malfeasance and irregularities in his conduct of Bitra Hold.
We'll do this properly, gathering evidence and making a full
report on the problem. Now, let's finish up today's agenda.
Kalvi, you wish to broach the subject of new mines?'
The lean hawk-nosed engineer sprang to his feet. 'I sure
do. We've got fifty years of Fall and we're going to need more
ore: ore that's closer to the surface than the Telgar deposits.'
'Thought they would last us a millennium,' Bridgely of
Benden said.
'Oh, there's certainly more ore down the main shafts, but
it's not as accessible as these mountain deposits which could
be worked more efficiently.' He unrolled an opaque plastic
map of the Great Western range where he had circled an area
beyond Ruatha's borders. 'Here! High-grade ore, and almost
waiting to leap into carts. We'll need that quality if we're to
replace flame-thrower equipment. And we'll have to.' He said
that with a degree of resignation. 'I've the personnel trained
and ready to move up there - which I'd like to do to get the
mines going before Threadfall starts. All I need is your OK.'
'You're asking to start a hold up there? Or just a mine?'
asked Paulin.
Kalvi scratched the side of his nose and grinned. 'Well, it'd
be a long way to travel after the shift is over, especially if the
dragons are all busy fighting Thread.' He unrolled another
diagram. 'One reason I've backed this site is that there's a
good cave system available for living quarters as well as coal
nearby for processing the ore. The finished ingots could be
shipped down river.'
There were murmurs among the others as the project was
discussed.
'Good thing Chalkin left,' Bridgely remarked. 'He's got
those mines in Steng Valley he's been trying to reactivate.'
'They're unsafe,' Kalvi said scornfully. 'I surveyed them
myself, and we'd have to spend too much time shoring up
shafts and replacing equipment. The ore's second rate, too.
There isn't time to restore the mine... much less argue with
Chalkin over a contract. You know how he can be, haggling
over minor details for weeks before he'll make a decision.'

He contorted his long face into a grimace. 'If you,' and he
turned to the others at the table, 'grant this permission, I'll
have a chance to noise it about the Gather this evening and
see who'd be interested in going along in support capacity
and necessary crafts.'
'I'll second it,' said Tashvi magnanimously, raising his hand.
'Good. Moved and seconded. Now, all in favour of the
formation of a mining hold?' Hands shot up and were dutifully
counted by Paulin.
'Chalkin's going to say this was rigged,' Bastom remarked
caustically, 'and that we drove him out of the meeting before
the subject came up.'
'So?' Paulin said. 'No-one asked him to leave and he has a
copy of the agenda same as everyone else.' He brought his
fist down on the table. 'Motion carried. Tell your engineer he
may start his project. High Reaches Weyr,' and he turned to
G'don. 'Telgar,' and he included K'vin now, 'can you supply

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transport?'
Both Weyrleaders agreed. If a new hold was to be estab-
lished, as many riders as possible from their Weyrs should
become familiar with its landmarks.
'There won't be that much extra to protect against Thread-
fall,' Kalvi said, with a grin for the dragonriders. 'It's all
underground or within the cliff caverns. We'll use hydroponics
for fresh food from the start.'
'Any more new business?' Paulin enquired.
Clisser raised his hand, was acknowledged and stood,
glancing at the assembled: falling into his lecture mode, K'vin
thought.
'Lord Chalkin's attitude may not be that unusual,' he began,
startling them into attention to his words. 'At least, not in
times to come. We, here and now, are not too distanced from
the events of the First Pass. We have actual visual records
from that time with which to check on the approach of the
rogue planet. We know it is a rogue because we know, from
the excellent and exhaustive reports done by Captains Keroon
and Tillek, that the planet was unlikely to have emerged from
our sun. Its orbit alone substantiates that theory since it is not

on the same ecliptical plane as the rest of Rukbat's satellites.
'I am assiduous in training at least six students in every
class in the rudiments of astronomy and the use of the sextant,
as well as being certain that they have the requisite
mathematics to compute declination and right ascension and
figure accurately the hour circle of any star. We still have
three usable telescopes with which to observe the skies, but
we once had more.' He paused. 'We are, as I'm sure we all
must honestly admit, losing more and more of the technology
bequeathed us by our ancestors. Not through mishandling,'
and he raised a hand against objections, 'but from the
attritions of age and an inability, however much we may strive
to compensate, to reach back to the same technical level our
ancestors enjoyed.'
Kalvi grimaced in reluctant agreement to that fact.
'Therefore, I suggest that we somehow, in some fashion,
with what technology we have left at our disposal, leave as
permanent and indestructible a record as possible for future
generations. I know that some of us,' and Clisser paused,
glancing significantly to the door through which Chalkin had
so recently passed, 'entertain the notion that our ancestors
were mistaken in thinking that Threadfall will occur whenever
the Red Planet passes Pern. But we can scarcely ignore the
perturbations already obvious on the surface of our planet -
the extreme weather, the volcanic eruptions, the other cosmic
clues. Should it so happen in centuries to come that too many
doubt - not wishing to destroy a flourishing economy and
happy existence - that Thread will return, all that we have
striven to achieve, all we have built with our bare hands,' and
dramatically he lifted his, 'all we have around us today,' and
he gestured towards the music faintly heard outside the Hall,
'would perish.'
The denials were loud.
'Ah,' and he held one hand over his head, 'but it could
happen. Lord Chalkin is proof of that. We've already lost so

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much of our technology. Valuable and skilled men and women
we could ill-afford to lose because of their knowledge and
skills have succumbed to disease or old age. We must have a

fail-safe against Thread! Something that will last and remind
our descendants to prepare, be ready, and to survive.'
'Is there any chance we could find that administration
building then?' Paulin asked S'nan.
'Too close to Threadfall now,' M'shall answered. 'And it's
going into the hot season down there which makes digging
anything enervating. However, I most emphatically agree with
Clisser. We need some sort of a safeguard. Something that
would prove to doubters like Chalkin that Thread isn't just a
myth our ancestors thought up.'
'But we keep records...' said Laura of Ista Weyr.
'How much plasfilm do you have left?' Paulin asked
pointedly. 'I know Fort's stock is running low. And you know
all that happened to our Repository.'
'True. But we've paper . . .' and she looked over at the
Telgar Holders, Tashvi and Salda.
'Look, how can we estimate how much of forestry acres will
survive Threadfall?' Tashvi asked, raising his hands in doubt.
'I've the timberjacks working non-stop, cutting, and the mill's
turning out as much lumber and pulp as it can.'
'You know we'll do our best to protect the forests,' K'vin
said, though privately he wondered how good their best could
be since even one Thread burrow could devastate a wide
swath of timbered land in minutes.
'Of course you will,' Salda said warmly, 'and we will
stockpile as much paper as we can beforehand. Old rags are
always welcome.' Then her expression sobered. 'But I don't
think any of us can know what will or will not survive. Tarvi
Andiyar's survey when he took Hold indicated that most of
the slopes were denuded. Ten years before Threadfall ceased,
he had seedlings in every corner of the Hold, ready to plant
out. We were just lucky that natural succession also occurred
in the three decades after the end of First Pass.'
'That is yet another item we must record for future gener-
ations,' Clisser said.
'The ultimate how-to,' put in Mari of High Reaches.
'I beg pardon?'
'What to do when Threadfall has Passed is even more

important than what to do while it's happening,' she said, as
if that should be obvious.
'We've got to first survive fifty years...' Salda began.
'Let's get back to the subject,' said Paulin, rising to his feet.
'The Chair concurs that we ought to have some permanent,
indestructable, unambiguous, simple way to anticipate the
rogue planet's return. Has anyone any ideas?'
'We can engrave metal plates and put them in every Weyr,
Hold and Hall where they're too obvious to be ignored,' Kalvi
suggested. 'And inscribe the sextant settings that indicate the

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Pass.'
'So long as there's a sextant, and someone to use it
accurately,' Lord Bastom said, 'that's fine. But what happens
when the last of them is broken?'
'They're not that complicated to make,' Kalvi replied.
'What if there's no-one trained in its use,' Salda put in.
'My fleet captains use sextants daily,' Bastom said. 'The
instruments are invaluable on the sea.'
'Mathematics is a base course for all students,' Clisser
added, 'not just fishermen.'
'You have to know the method to get the answers you
need,' said Corey, the Head Medic, speaking for the first time.
'And know when to use it.' Her profession was struggling to
maintain a high standard as more and more equipment
became unusable, and unusual procedures became erudite.
'There has to be some way to pass on that vital information
to future generations,' said Paulin, looking first at Clisser and
then scanning the faces at the table. 'Let's have a hard think.
Etching on metal's one way . . . and prominently placing
tablets in every Weyr and Hold so they can't be stored away
and forgotten.'
'A sort of Rosetta Stone?' Clisser's tone was more state-
ment than query.
'What's that?' Bridgely asked. Clisser had a habit, which
annoyed some folk, of dropping odd references into con-
versations: references with which only he was familiar. It
would lead to long lectures from him if anyone gave him the
chance.

'On Earth, in the late eighteenth century, a stone with three
ancient languages was discovered which gave the clue to
translating those languages. We shall, of course, keep our
language pure...'
'We're back to etching again,' said Corey, grinning.
'If it's the only way...' Clisser began and then frowned.
'No, there has to be some fail-safe method. I'll investigate
options.'
'All right then, Clisser, but don't put the project aside,'
Paulin said. 'I'd rather we had a hundred sirens, bells and
whistles going off than no warning at all.'
Clisser grinned slowly. 'The bells and whistles are easy
enough. It's the siren that will take time.'
'All right then,' and Paulin looked around the table.
Toe-tapping dance music was all too audible and the younger
holders and weyrfolk were plainly restless. 'No more new
business?' He didn't wait for an answer but used the gavel to
end the meeting. 'That's all for now. Enjoy yourselves, folks.'
The speed with which the Hall emptied suggested that that
was what all intended to do.

Gather at Fort

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'Cliss, what on earth possessed you.'?' Sheledon demanded,
glowering. He was head of the Arts faculty at the College and
constantly jealous of what free time he had in which to
compose.
'Well,' and Clisser looked away from Sheledon's direct and
accusing glare, 'we do have more records and are more
familiar with the techniques of accessing them than anyone
else. Information and training are what this College was
established to provide.'
'Our main function,' and Danja took up the complaint -
she wanted spare time in which to work with her string
quartet, 'is to teach youngsters who would rather ride dragons
or acquire many klicks of Pernese real estate to use the wits
they were born with. And to brainwash enough youngsters
to go out and teach whatever they know to our ever-
widely-spreading population.'
Dance music swirled about them, but Sheledon and Danja

were so incensed that they seemed oblivious to the rhythms
that were causing the other three at their table to keep time
with foot or hand. Danja shot Lozell a peevish look and he
stopped rattling fingers callused from harp strings.
'I don't think it'll be that hard to find some way to indicate
a celestial return,' he said in an attempt to appease the wrath
of Sheledon and Danja.
'It isn't the "hard" that bothers me,' Danja said acidly, 'but
when will we have the time?' She stabbed her finger at
the as-yet-unfinished extension to the teaching facility.
'Particularly since there is a time limit,' and she shot another
dirty look at Clisser. 'Winter Solstice.'
'Oh,' and Lozell grimaced. 'Good point.'
'We're all working every hour we can spare from classes
on what's urgent right now,' Danja went on, gesturing
dramatically and pacing up and down the length of their table.
While Sheledon closed in on himself when threatened, Danja
exploded into action. Now her nervous movements knocked
the chair on which she had placed her violin and she reacted,
as quickly, to keep the valuable instrument from falling to the
cobbles. She gave Lozell a second nasty look, as if he had
been responsible.
Sheledon reached across and took violin and bow from her,
putting them very carefully on the table which had been
cleared of all but wine glasses. Absently he mopped a wine
spill near the precious violin, one of the few usable relics from
Landing days. He gave it a loving pat while Danja continued.
'Like today,' she said, resuming her pacing, 'we taught in
the morning, managed to eat something before we spent an
afternoon painting so that there will be some finished rooms
for the summer term. We had five minutes to change and even
then we missed the fly-past which I, for one,' and she paused
to jab her thumb into her sternum, 'wanted to see.
'We've played two sets,' she went on earnestly, 'and will
undoubtedly still be playing when the sun rises, and tomorrow
will he a repeat of today except no Gather, so we get a good
night's rest to prepare us for more of the above, except maybe
get a little work done on next term. Which starts in a week,

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and then we'll have no time at all since we now have to
prepare the teachers who'll be graduated to carry The Word
to the outer extremities of the continent.' She gestured
eastward in a histrionic fashion, then flounced down on the
chair the violin had occupied. 'So how are we going to find
time to do yet more research, Clisser?'
'We always do find the time,' Clisser said, his quiet
rejoinder a subtle criticism of her rant.
'Use it as a history class project?' suggested Lozell brightly.
'There you have the answer,' said Bethany who had merely,
as was her habit, watched the fireworks Danja was so good
at sending up. 'My juniors could use an independent project.'
'So long as we have power to run the library,' Danja added
sourly.
'We will, we will,' Clisser said, with bright encourage-
ment. 'Kalvi had his engineers up on the heights during the
fly-past working on the sun panels. They'll hook them up to
the main banks tomorrow. Other people worked today, you
know.'
'Well, that's a big consolation,' said Danja acidly.
Clisser refilled her glass. 'And we'll need some catchy tunes
and good lyrics, too, I should think. Something to teach
students from a very early age so that they learn all the signs
of a Pass before they learn to ask questions about it.'
'"One and one is two, two and two are four?" ' Danja sang
the old multiplying song, then grinned wryly.
'The song remains an effective teaching aid,' Clisser said,
filling his glass. 'Shel, would you put on your composer's hat
and whip up some simple effective tunes?'
Sheledon nodded enthusiastically. 'I've been saying for
years that we ought to incorporate more basic stuff into a
musical format. Jemmy's good at little popular airs.' Most of
his songs were geared to show off the talent of his soprano
spouse, Sydra, who taught history and, in her spare time, was
chronicling the early years of the colony.
Bethany's face lit up with a great smile. Jemmy was a
favourite pupil of hers, and she was his staunchest champion.
Even Danja looked mollified.

'So,' Clisser went on, having solved one of his immediate
problems, 'what shall we do in the next set?'
'Just like that?' Danja demanded. '"What'11 we do in this
set?" Clisser, will you get real!'
Clisser looked hurt. Bethany leaned over and patted his
hand, smiling encouragingly.
'What did you mean by that, Danja?' Clisser asked.
'Don't you realize what a huge responsibility you just so
casually...' and Danja lifted wide her arms, flinging her hands
skyward in exasperation, 'laid on us all?'
'Nothing we can't solve, dear,' Bethany said in her gentle
manner. 'With a little thought and time.'
'Back to time again. Do we have time?' Lozell was back in
the discussion. 'Especially if the winter's even half as bad

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as it was last year . . . and it's supposed to be, with that
damned Red Planet leering down on us... how are we going
to cope?'
'We will. We always do,' Sheledon said with a sigh of
resignation. 'Paulin will help us out. And certainly the Weyrs
do.'
Danja glared at him. 'We've changed tunes, haven't we? I
thought you thought we didn't have time.'
Sheledon shrugged diffidently. 'I think Lozell's idea of
making a survey a class project will solve that problem. And,
if Jeremy can whistle up some lyrics, I can certainly churn out
some tunes. Or maybe Jemmy can do both in his spare time.'
Sheledon's face softened into a wry grin. He had had a tussle
with himself, not to be jealous of Jeremy whose brilliance was
multi-faceted. Though he wasn't officially 'graduated' from
the Hall, he already ran several smaller study groups and
seemed able to do a bit of everything - on a high level. The
consummate Jack of all Trades, Clisser called him.
'And what if, by leaving it to the student body - who are,
as most students, indifferent researchers - the best notion is
missed?' Danja asked.
'That's why we're teachers, dear,' said Bethany. 'To be sure
they don't miss an obvious solution. They can at least save us
having to sort through pounds of material and present us with

the most viable options. We can put Jemmy in charge; he
reads the fastest and his eyes are younger.'
Just then, the instrumentalists on the stage wound up their
last number and received an enthusiastic ovation from both
the sweating dancers and the onlookers drinking at the tables.
They filed off the stage.
'All right, what set do we do, Clisser?' Sheledon asked,
tossing off the last of his wine as he got to his feet.
'Those seniors did a lot of fast dance music,' Clisser said.
'Let's give everyone a chance to catch their breaths and do
some slow stuff... the old traditionals, I think. Start with
"Long and Winding Road". Put everyone in a sentimental
mood.'
'Hmmm... then we can get some supper while the juniors
do what they so erroneously call "music",' said Danja, who
had considerable contempt for the contemporary loud and
diatonic musical fad.
'Can't please everyone all the time,' Clisser said, collecting
his guitar. He drew back Bethany's chair for her and offered
her an arm. Smiling in her gentle way at the courtesy, she
picked up the flute in its worn hard-case, her recorders in
their leather sleeves and the little reed whistle that had won
its maker a prize that year. It had a particularly sweet, clear
tone that young Jemmy had been trying to reproduce with
other reeds. Then she limped forward, seemingly oblivious to
her clubbed foot and awkward gait, her head high, her gaze
directed ahead of her.
Jemmy joined them from his table, automatically taking
Bethany's flute case from her. He was drummer for their
group, though he had been playing guitar with others. Un-
prepossessing in physical appearance, with pale hair and skin
and oversized features, he was self-effacing, indifferent to his

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academic achievements. While not in the least athletic, he had
won the long-distance races in the Summer Games for the last
three years. He did not relate well, however, to his peer group.
'They don't think the same way I do,' was his diffident
self-appraisal.
That was, of course, accurate since he had tested off the

scale of the standard aptitude tests given prospective scholars.
His family, fishers at Tillek Hold, didn't understand him at
all and at one point thought him retarded. At fourteen he had
followed his siblings into training in the family occupation. He
lasted three voyages. Though he had proven himself an able
navigator, he had had such constant motion sickness - never
acquiring 'sea legs' - that he had been useless as a deck-hand:
a source of much embarrassment to his family. Captain Kizan
had interested himself in the lad and recommended the boy
be trained as a teacher, and sent Jemmy to Fort Hold for
evaluation. Clisser had joyfully accepted him - finding such
an avid learner was a real boost to his morale. And, when
Clisser had seen how Jemmy galloped through even the
hardest lessons, he had set up an independent study pro-
gramme for him. Although Jeremy had perfect pitch, he
couldn't sing and started playing instruments to make up for
that lack in himself. There was nothing he couldn't play, given
a few hours of basic training.
Although his family, and indeed the Lord Holder Bastom,
too, had expected him to return to Tillek to teach, Clisser had
argued hard that anyone could teach the basics to hold
children: he would supply a suitably trained candidate. But
Jemmy must be allowed to continue at the College Hall,
benefiting the entire continent.
What no-one at the Hall mentioned beyond their most
private sessions was that Jemmy seemed intuitively to know
how to fill in the gaps left by improper copying or damaged
records. His notations, short and concise, were models of
lucidity. The College could not afford to do without his skills
and intelligence. He wasn't a good teacher, being frustrated
by mental processes slower than his own, but he could, and
did, produce manuals and guides that enhanced the basic texts
the settlers had brought with them. Jemmy translated 'Earth'
into 'Pern'.
If his peer group did not enjoy his company, he enjoyed
that of his mentors and was fast outstripping all of them
in knowledge and practical applications. it was also well-
known, if tacitly ignored, that he idolized Bethany. She was

consistently kind and encouraging to everyone, but refused
to accept any partner. She had long since decided never to
inflict her deformity on offspring and refused any intimacy,
even a childless one.
Clisser wondered, though, as he and Bethany made their
sedate way to the stage, if Jemmy might not breach the wall
of her virginity. He was certain that Bethany cared more for
the Tillek lad than anyone else in the thirty years he had

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known her - student and teacher. She was a lovely, gentle
woman; she deserved to be loved and love in return. Since
there were ways of preventing conception, her prime concern
could be taken care of. Clisser thought the age difference was
immaterial. And Jemmy desperately needed the balance that
a fully rounded life experience would give him.
Clisser and Jemmy provided support for Bethany to ascend
the unrailed steps to the stage and then, with a swirl of the
long skirts that covered the built-up shoe she wore, she settled
herself in her chair. She placed her flute case and the
recorders where she wanted them, and the little reed flute in
the music stand. Not that this group of musicians required
printed sheets to read from, but the other groups did.
Danja lifted her fiddle to her chin, bow poised, and looked
at Jemmy who hummed an 'A' with his perfect pitch for her
to tune her strings. Sheledon softly strummed his guitar to
check its tuning and Lozell ran an arpeggio on his standing
harp. The continent's one remaining piano - his preferred
instrument - was undergoing repairs to the hammers; they
had not yet managed to reproduce quite the same sort of felt
that had been used originally.
Clisser nodded at Jemmy, who did a roll on his hand drum
to attract attention and then, on Clisser's downbeat, they
began their set.

It was several days before Clisser had a chance to discuss the
project with Jemmy.
'I've wondered why we didn't use the balladic medium to
teach history,' Jemmy replied.

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la~

'It isn't history we'll be setting to music.'
'Oh yes, it is,' Jemmy had contradicted him in the flat and
tactless way he had. It had taken Clisser time to get used to
it. 'Well, it will be when the next generation gets it... and
the next one after that.'
'That's a point, of course.'
Jeremy hummed something, but broke off and sprang across
to the table where he grabbed a sheet of paper, turning it
to the unused side. He slashed five lines across it, added a
clef and immediately began to set notes down. Clisser was
fascinated.
'Oh,' Jemmy said off-handedly as his fingers flew up and
down the lines, 'I've had this tune bugging me for months
now. It's almost a relief to put it down on paper now that I've
a use for it.' He marked off another measure, the pen hovering
above the paper only briefly before he was off again. 'It can
be a show piece anyhow. Start off with a soprano - boy, of
course, setting the scene. Then the tenors come in... they'll
be the dragonriders, of course, and the baritones . . . Lord
Holders, with a few basses to be the Professionals... each
describing his duty to the Weyr... then a final chorus, s.a.t.b.,
a reprise of the first verse, all Pern confirming what they owe
the dragons. Yes, that'll do nicely for one.'
Clisser knew when he wasn't needed and left the room,
smiling to himself. Now, if Bethany was right and this term's
students could perform the research satisfactorily, he could
make good on his blithe promise to the Council. He did hope
that the computers would last long enough for a com-
prehensive search. They had got so erratic lately that their
performance was suspect at most times. Some material was
definitely scrambled and lost among files. And no-one knew
how to solve the problem of replacement parts. Of course, the
p.c.s were so old and decrepit, it was truly a wonder that they
had lasted as long as they had. Was there any point these days
in holding a course on computer electronics?
Which thought reminded him that he had interviews with
two sets of parents who were insisting that their offspring be
put in the computer course since that was the most prestigious

of those offered. And the one involving the least work, since
there were so few computers left. Where would they practise
the skills they learned? Clisser wondered. Furthermore,
neither of the two students concerned had the aptitude to
work with mechanical objects; they just thought it was what
they wanted. There were always a few cases like that in an
academic year. And one set of Holder parents who did not
like their daughter associating with 'lesser breeds without the
law'... as Sheledon put it.
As if there was room, or facilities, for more than one
teachers' school. Or the private tutors some Holders felt
should be supplied them because of their positions. Ha! As it
was, the peripatetic teachers were going all year long, trying
to cover the basics with children in the far-flung settlements.
Well, maybe one day they could site a second campus - was
that the word? - on the eastern coast. Of course, with

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Threadfall coming, he'd have to revise all the schedules as
well as instruct his travellers on how to avoid getting killed
by the stuff. He had seen footage - when the projector still
worked - of actual Threadfall. He shuddered. Accustomed
as he had been all his life to the prospect of the menace, he
still didn't like the inevitability. The reality was nearly on
them.
The Weyrleaders could waffle on about how well prepared
Hold and Weyr were, with dragon strength at max, and
ground crews and equipment organized, but did anyone really
know what it would be like? He swore under his breath as he
made his way to the rooms that still needed to be completed
to receive occupants in five days. He'd work on the syllabus
on his lunch break.
A sudden thought struck him so that he halted, foot poised
briefly above the next step. What they really needed was a
totally new approach to education on Pern!
What was the point of teaching students subjects now
rendered useless here on Pern? Like computer programming
and electronic maintenance? What good did it do the Pernese
boys and girls to know the old geographic and political
subdivisions of Terra? Useless information. They'd never go

For

there! Such matters did not impinge on their daily lives. What
was needed was a complete revision of learning priorities,
suitable to those who were firmly and irrevocably based on
this planet. Why did anyone NOW need to know the underly-
ing causes of the Nathi Space War? No-one here was going
to get in space - even the dragons were limited to distance
which they could travel before they were in oxygen debt. Why
not study the spatial maps of Pern and forget those of Earth
and its colonies? Study the Charter and its provisions as
applicable to the Pernese citizenry, rather than prehistoric
governments and societies? Well, some of the more relevant
facts could be covered in the course to show how the current
governmental system, such as it was, had been developed. But
there was so much trivia - no wonder his teachers couldn't
get through the lessons. Small wonder the students got bored.
So little of what they were presently required to learn had
any relevance to the life they lived and the planet they
inhabited. History should really begin with Landing on Pern
ú.. well, some nodding acquaintance with the emergence of
homo sapiens, but why deal with the aliens which Earth's
exploratory branch had discovered when there was little
chance of them arriving in the Rukbat system?
And further, Clisser decided, taken up with the notion, we
should encourage specialized training - raising agriculture and
veterinary care to the prestige of computer sciences. Breeding
to Pernese conditions and coping with Pernese parasites was
far more important than knowing what had once bothered
animals back on Earth. Teach the miners and metal workers
where the spatial maps showed deposits of ores and what they
were good for; teach not the history of art - especially since
many of the slides of Masterpieces had now deteriorated to
muddy blurs - but how to use Pernese pigments, materials,

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design and tailoring; teach the Great Currents, oceanography,
fish-conservation, seamanship, naval engineering and
meteorology to those who fished the waters... As to that,
why not separate the various disciplines so that each student
would learn what he needed to know, not a lot of basically
useless facts, figures and lheories?

For instance, get Kalvi to take in... what was the old term
... ah, apprentices... take in apprentices to learn fabrication
and metal-work? And there'd have to be a discipline for
mining, as well as metal-working. One for weaving; farming;
fishing. And one for teaching, too. Of course, education in
itself was designed to teach you how to solve the problems
that cropped up in daily living, but for specialities you could
really slim down to the essential skills required by each. As
it was, that sort of apprentice system was almost in place
anyhow... with parents either instructing their kids in the
family's profession or getting a knowledgeable neighbour to
do it. Kalvi had both sons now in supervisory capacities in his
Telgar Works. And there should be provisions to save other
kids, like Jemmy, and see that they were able to develop a
potential not in keeping with their native hold's main business.
Adminster a basic aptitude test to every child at six, and the
more specific one at eleven or twelve, and be able to identify
special abilities and place him or her where s/he could
learn best from the people qualified to maximize the innate
potential.
Even in medicine, a new curriculum should be established,
based on what was now available on Pern rather than what
the First Settlers had had. Mind you, Corey was constantly
regretting the lack of this or that medicine, or equipment and
procedures that would have saved lives but were no longer
available. Clisser snorted; too much time was spent bitching
about 'what had been' and 'if only we still had' instead of
making the best of what was available in the here and now.
What was that old saying?

'Ours not to wonder what were fair in life
But finding what may be, make it fair up
to our means?'

Well, he couldn't remember who had said it or to what it
had applied. But the meaning definitely applied! Pern had
great riches which were being ignored in the regret of the
~what had been'. Even Corey had to admit that the indigenous
pharmacopoeia was proving to be sufficient for most common

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ailments, and even better in some cases now that the last of
the carefully hoarded Earth chemicals were depleted.
Basic concepts of maths, history, responsibility, duty, could
indeed be translated into music, easier to transmit and
memorize. Why, anyone who could strum an instrument could
give initial instruction in holds, teach kids to read, write and
do some figuring, and then let them apply themselves to the
nitty-gritty of their life's occupation. And music had always
been important here.
He put his foot down on the step, pleased with this
moment's revelation. A whole new way of looking at the
education and training of the young, and entirely suitable to
the planet and its needs. He must really sit down and think
it all through... when he found the time.
His laugh mocked his grandiose ideas and yet, they'd had
to revise and reform so many old concepts here on Pern: why
not the method in which education was administered? Was
that the word he wanted: administered? Like a medicine? He
sighed. He did wish that learning was not considered an
unavoidable dose. Certainly someone like Jemmy proved that
learning was enjoyable. But then, insatiable appetites like his
for knowledge, for its own sake, were rare.
Clisser trotted up the last of that flight of steps in con-
siderably better humour. He'd find the time, by all that's still
holy, he would.

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Late Autumn at Telgar Weyr

Zulaya beamed at Paulin. 'Yes, she rather outdid herself,
didn't she?' She turned to regard her queen fondly as the
golden dragon hovered proprietorially over the fifty-one eggs
which would, by all the signs, hatch some time this day.
All morning dragons had conveyed in guests and candi-
dates.
'Aren't the Weyrs over-producing a trifle?' Paulin asked.
Benden and Ista Weyrs had also had Hatchings in the past
month. He had lost two very promising holder lads to the
Weyrs; a felt loss, as the boys could no longer journey easily
between Hold and Weyr as riders were freer to travel, and to
learn and practise other professions during an Interval.
'Frequent clutches are one of the sure-fire signs that there
will be a Pass,' Zulaya said, obviously looking forward to the
days when the dragons of Pern started the work for which
they were engineered. 'Have you heard that song the College
sent out?'

'Hmmm, yes, I have,' and Paulin grinned. 'In fact, I can't
get it out of my mind.'
'Clisser says they have several more to play for us tonight.'
'Just music?' Paulin asked, scowling. 'It's a device we asked
them for... something permanent so that no-one can deny
the imminence of a Pass.'
Zulaya patted his hand encouragingly. 'You can ask what
progress he's made on that project.'
K'vin, coming up behind them, casually laid a hand on his
Weyrwoman's shoulder, acting as proprietorJelly of her as her
dragon was of her clutch. Amused, Paulin coughed into his
hand and hurriedly excused himself.
'He's worried about that fail-safe,' Zulaya said, also amused
by K'vin's show of jealousy but not about to remark on it.
'You're looking very beautiful in that new dress,' he said,
eyeing it.
'Am I? Why, thank you, Kev,' she said, twisting her hips
to make the skirt whirl. 'Which reminds me...' and she held
out a fold of the rich crimson patterned brocade which she
had had made for this Hatching. 'Fredig suggested tapestries,
hanging in every Weyr and Hold, depicting the return of the
Red Star - with the formulae in the borders. Make an
interesting design, certainly.'
'Colours fade and fabrics certainly deteriorate...'
'We've some that graced houses in Landing. That Earth-
Moon scene...'
'Which was made, as I've been told, out of synthetic yarns
which are more durable than what we have now - cotton,
linen and wool. And even they are looking worn and losing
colour.'
'I'11 have them washed...'
'You'll have them thread-worn . . . ooops,' and K'vin
grinned at the pun.
'... Which is not what is wanted but there's no reason, Key,
not to have a hundred different reminders...'
'Something set in stone...' the Weyrleader said in a more
sober tone.

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'Even stones move...'

'Only prior to a Pass. Only how to perpetuate the critical
information?'
'I think everyone's worrying too much. I mean, here we
are,' and Zulaya gestured broadly to include the Hatching
Ground and the Weyr around them. 'Why else have dragons?
And Weyrs set apart to preserve them, if not for a very, very
good reason? They're the planet's only sure defence.'
A sound - subliminal more than a real noise - alerted them.
It issued from Meranath who reared to her hindquarters,
spreading her broad wings; her eyes glowing brightly green
and beginning to whirl with excitement.
'Ah, it starts,' Zulaya said, smiling in anticipation. 'Oh, I
love Hatchings!'
Hand in hand, the two Weyrleaders raced to the entrance
and called out the news, scarcely needed, for the Telgat
dragons were already reacting to the queen's maternal croon
with their deep masculine humming.
The Weyr Bowl became active with dragons a-wing in
excitement, flipping here and there on seemingly unavoidable
collision courses; with the Weyrlingmaster herding the candi-
dates forward; with parents and friends of the lucky boys and
girls rushing across the hot sands to take their places in the
amphitheatre: hustling to get the best seating for the Im-
pression about to happen.
K'vin sent Zulaya back to keep Meranath company as he
urged people inside, checked the nervous white-clad candi-
dates who had been halted in a clump near the entrance until
the spectators were all seated.
'You've long enough to wait on the hot sands as it is,'
T'dam, the Weyrlingmaster, told them. 'Singe your feet, you
could, out there...'
All this time the humming was rising in volume: Meranath
joined by all the other dragons in a chorus of tones that
Sheledon - and others - had tried to imitate but never quite
succeeded. Meranath's throat was swollen with her sound,
which continued unabated and seemingly without her needing
to draw breath. Soon, as the volume increased, her chest and
belly would begin to vibrate too, with the intensity of her

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humming. K'vin was aware of the usual response in himself,
a jumble of emotions; a joy that threatened to burst his heart
through his chest, pride, hope, fear, yearning - oddly enough,
hunger was part of it - and a sadness that, on some occasions,
could make him weep. Zulaya always wept at Hatchings - at
least, until Impressions began. Then she was jubilant, picking
up on her queen's acceptance of her clutch's partnering.
In Fort Hold's storage, there were file boxes full of early
psychological profiles about the effect of Hatching on riders,
dragons and the new weyrlings. The bonding that occurred
was of such complexity and depth that no other union could
be compared with it: almost overwhelming in the initial
moment of recognition, and certainly the most intense
emotion the young candidates had ever experienced. Some
youngsters had no trouble at all adapting to the intense and
intrusive link: some suffered feelings of inadequacy and
doubt. Every Weyr had its own compendium of information
about what to do in such-and-such a situation. And every
weyrling was assiduously trained and supported through the
early months of the relationship until the Weyrleaders and
Weyrlingmaster deemed he/she was stable enough to take
responsibility for her/himself and her/his dragon.
But then, a rider was the dragon, and the dragon the rider,
in a partnership that was so unwavering, its cessation resulted
in suicide for the dragon who lost his mate. The unfortunate
rider was as apt to take his life as not. If he lived, he was only
half a man, totally bereft by his loss. Female riders were less
apt to suicide; they at least had the option of sublimating their
loss by having children.
When the little fire-lizards, who had supplied the genetic
material to bio-engineer the larger dragons, had still been
available, a former male rider found some solace in such a
companionship. Only three fire-lizard clutches had been found
in Ista in the last five decades, though it was thought more
might be found in the Southern Continent, but that quest had
so far been futile. The vets had decided that some sort of odd
disease had infected the creatures on northern warm beaches,
reducing their numbers and/or their clutches. Whatever

the reason, no-one had fire-lizard companions any more.
As soon as most of the guests had crossed the hot sands,
T'dam allowed the candidates to make a loose circle around
the eggs. There was no golden egg in this clutch - a circum-
stance which had both relieved and worried the Weyrleaders.
They had five junior queens, which was quite enough for

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Telgar's low flight wing. In fact, there was no dearth of queens
in any of the Weyrs, but there was safety in having enough
breeders.
Only five girls stood on the Hatching Ground vying to
attract the attention of the greens. There should have been
six, but one girl's family had refused to give her up on Search
since they claimed a union had been arranged and they
could not go back on that pledge. As K'vin thought that a
good third or even half of this clutch might be greens, he
hoped there'd be enough suitable 'lads' to impress the green
hatchlings. His study of Thread fighting tactics also indicated
that greens with male riders tended to be more volatile, apt
to ignore their Weyrleaders' orders in the excitement of a
Fall: in short, they tended to unnecessarily show off their
bravery to the rest of the Weyr. On the other hand, the green
dragons were valuable to a Weyr for their speed and agility
even if they didn't have the stamina of the larger dragons. A
careful wingleader alternated his green riders, resting each at
least an hour during a Fall.
There had been a monograph on the advantages of female
over male green riders in Threadfall. Although the text
allowed the reader to make his own decision, K'vin had fallen
on the side of preferring females when Search provided them.
Certainly their personalities were more stable and they posed
fewer problems to the Weyrleaders. Young male green riders
could go into emotional declines if they lost their weyrmates
and be useless in Fall, sometimes even suiciding in their
distress. On the other hand, since the greens were sexually
very active, there was more danger of female riders becom-
ing pregnant, unless they were extremely careful. Even
spontaneous abortions due to the extreme cold of between
required sensible convalescence.

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'Taking a short dragon-ride' was now a euphemism for
ending an unwanted pregnancy. Another good reason to have
a few female green riders in the Weyr: less embarrassment.
According to Zulaya, though, there had been few such
terminations since she had become Weyrwoman. Probably
due to the fact that too many holds had lost relatives to the
last bad winter fever. Or possibly because everyone wanted
to have enough children to extend their legitimate holdings
or establish new ones.
The draconic humming - what Clisser called a pre-birth
lullaby - was reaching an almost unendurable level, climaxing
when the first egg cracked open. The spectators were exhibit-
ing the usual excitability, jumping about, weeping, singing
along with the dragons. They'd calm down, too, once the
Hatching had begun.
And it did. Three shells burst outwards simultaneously,
fragments raining down on nearby eggs and causing them to
crack as well. K'vin counted nine dragons, six of them wetly
green, and revised his 'third' of greens closer to 'half'.
The hatchlings were so dangerous at this stage, ravenous
from their encapsulation, and some of the nearer candidates
hastily avoided the bumbling progress of the new-born. Two
greens seemed headed for Weyrbred girls but the blonde from
Ista, already noted in the Weyr for her quick wits, stepped
beside one and Impression was made for both. Three of the
other greens made for lads who had demonstrated homo-
sexual preferences in their holds. The remaining green, after
lunging out of her shell, stood, weaving her head back and
forth, crying piteously.
T'dam called out to the remaining girls to converge on her.
The brunette girl from Ista made for her and instantly the little
green covered the intervening distance, squeaking with relief.
K'vin swallowed against the emotional lump in his throat:
that instant of recognition always brought back the moment
when he had experienced the shock of Impression with
Charanth. And the glory of that incredibly loving mind linking
with his: the knowledge that they were indissolubly one, heart,
mind and soul.

We are, are we not? Charanth said, his tone rough with the
memory of that rapture. Despite the fact that Charanth, like
the rest of the Weyr's dragons, was perched up along the
ceiling, K'vin could 'hear' the dragon's sigh.
Zulaya grinned up at K'vin, aware of what was taking place
within him, tears flowing down her face as the high emotional
level of the Hatching affected her.
Absently K'vin thought that the glowing bulk of Meranath
behind Zulaya made a great background for her beautiful new
gown... red against gold.
Then another dozen or so eggs split wide open and the
raucous screeching of starving little dragonets reverberated
back and forth on the Ground. There was a piercing quality
to these screams like lost souls. As each hatchling met its rider,
the scream broke off and a mellow croon began. That quickly
segued into a piteous 'hungry' appeal which was almost
more devastating than the earliest screech the weyrlings
made. K'vin's stomach invariably went into empathetic hunger

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Page 46

cramps.
The noise of a Hatching, K'vin thought, was unique.
Fortunately, because human eardrums were not designed to
deal with such decibels and cacophony, it didn't last too long.
He always felt slightly deafened - certainly ear sore - by the
end of a Hatching.
He was suddenly aware of another sort of babble and fuss
going on just outside the Hatching Ground. He tried to see
what was happening, but he saw T'dam striding over to
investigate so K'vin turned his attention back to the pairing
of the last few hatchlings, two browns and the last green. Two
lads were homing on the green, desperate expressions on their
faces. Abruptly the green turned from them and resolutely
charged across the sands to the girl who had just entered.
K'vin gave a double-take. There were only five girls, weren't
they? Not that he wasn't glad to see another. And she was
the one the green wanted, for the hatchling pushed aside the
boy who tried to divert her.
Then three men strode into the Ground, furious expres-
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angry progress towards the lately Impressed green pair.
'DEBERA!' yelled the first man, reaching out and snatch-
ing her away from the green dragonet.
That was his first mistake, K'vin thought, running across
the sands to avert catastrophe. Damn it all. Why did this
marvellous moment have to be interrupted so abruptly?
Hatchings should be sacrosanct.
Before K'vin could get there, the green reacted to the man's
attempt to separate her from her chosen one. She reared,
despite being not altogether sure of her balance on wobbly
hindquarters. Extending her short forearms with claws un-
sheathed, she lunged at the man.
K'vin had one look at the shock on his face, the fear on the
girl's before the dragon had the man down and was trying to
open her jaws wide enough to fit around his head.
T'dam, being nearer, plunged to the rescue. The girl,
Debera, was also trying to detach her dragonet from her
father, for that's what she was calling him.
'Father! Father! Leave him alone, Morath. He can't touch
me now I'm a dragonrider. Morath, do you hear me?'
Except that K'vin was very anxious that Morath might have
already injured the man, he was close to laughing at this
Debera's tone of authority. The girl had instinctively adopted
the right attitude with her newly hatched charge. No wonder
she'd been Searched... and at some hold evidently not too
far away.
K'vin assisted Debera while T'dam pulled the fallen man
out of the dragon's reach. Then his companions hauled him
even further away while Morath continued to squeal and
writhed to resume her attack.
He would hurt you. He would own you. You are mine and
1 am yours and no-one comes between us, Morath was saying
so ferociously that every rider heard her.
Zulaya joined the group and, bending to check the father's
injuries, called for the medics who were dealing with the minor
lacerations that generally occurred at this time. Fortunately,
Morath had no fangs yet and, although there were raw weals
on the man's face and his chest had been badly scratched by

unsheathed claws - despite their newness - he had been
somewhat protected by the leather jerkin he wore.
By now, most of the newly-hatched were out of the
Grounds, being fed their first meal by their new life com-
panions. The spectators, beginning to dismount from the
ampitheatre's levels, managed to get a peek at the injured
man. Undoubtedly they would recount the incident at every
opportunity. K'vin hoped the embellishments would stay
within reason. Now he had to deal with the facts.
'So, perhaps you would tell us what this is all about?' he
asked Debera who, confronted by the Weyrleader and Weyr-
woman, was suddenly overcome with remorse and doubt.
'I was Searched,' she said, urgently stroking Morath who
was trying to burrow her head into the girl's body. ~I had the

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Page 48

right to come, I wanted to come,' and then she waved an
indignant hand at her prostrate father, 'and they didn't even
show me the letter telling me to come. He wants me for a
union because he had a deal with Boris for a mining site and
with Ganmar for taking me on. I don't want Ganmar, and I
don't know anything about mining. I was Searched and I have
the right to decide.' The indignant words rushed out, accom-
panied by expressions of distaste, resentment and anger!
'Yes, I remember seeing your name on the Search list,
Debera,' said Zulaya, ranging herself beside the girl in a subtle
position of support. The alignment was not lost on the older
of the two men attending their fallen friend. 'You are Boris?'
she asked him. 'So you must be Ganmar,' she went on,
addressing the younger one. 'Did you not realize that Debera
had been Searched?'
Ganmar looked very uncomfortable and dropped his eyes,
while the scowl on Boris's face deepened and he jutted out
his jaw obstinately.
'Lavel told me she'd refused.'
At that point, Maranis, the Weyr's medic, arrived to have
a look at the wounded man. When he had examined him, he
sent a helper for litter-bearers. Then he began to deal with
the injuries, pulling back the tattered jerkin, provoking a
groan from the dazed man.

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'Well, Boris,' Zulaya said, at her sternest. 'As you seem to
be aware, Debera does have the right...'
'That's what you weyrfolk always say. But it's us who suffer
from what you call "right".'
'Making more trouble, Boris?' asked Tashvi, arriving just
then with Salda.
'You agreed, Tashvi,' Boris said, with little courtesy for his
Lord Holder. 'You said we could dig that new mine. You were
glad to have me and my son here start. And Lavel was willing
for Ganmar to have his daughter...'
'Ah, but the daughter seems not to have been so willing,'
Lady Salda remarked.
'She was willing all right, wasn't you, Deb?' Boris said,
staring with angry accusation at the girl who returned his look
by lifting her chin proudly. "Til they came from the Weyr on
Search . . .'
'Search has the priority,' said Tashvi. 'You know that,
Boris.'
'We had it all arranged,' the father spoke up, now his pain
had been alleviated by the numbweed Maranis had slathered
on his wounds. 'We had it arranged!' And the look he gave
his daughter was trenchant with angry, bitter reproach.
'You had it all arranged,' Debera said, equally bitter,
'between yourselves, but not with me, even before the Search.'
A wistful moan from Morath interrupted her angry rebuttal.
'She's hungry. I have to feed her. Come along now,' she added
in a far more loving tone. Without a backward glance, she led
her green dragonet out of the Hatching Ground.
'I'd say that the matter was certainly not well arranged,
then,' Tashvi said.
'But it was,' said Lavel, jabbing one fist at the dragonriders,
'until they came round, putting ideas in her head when she
was a good, hard-working girl who always did as she was told.
Then you riders tell her she's fit for dragons. Fit! I know what
you riders get up to, and Debera's a good girl. She's not like
you lot...'
'That's quite enough of such talk,' said Zulaya, drawing
herself up, insulted.

'Indeed it is,' Tashvi agreed, scowling angrily. 'The Weyr-
woman will realize that you're not yourself, wounded as you
are...
'Wounds got nothing to do with my righteous anger, Lord
Holder. I know what I know, and I know we had it all
arranged, and you should stick up for your holders, not these
weyrfolk and all their queer customs and doings, and I dunno
what'11 happen to my daughter.' At that point, he began to
weep, more in frustrated anger than from the pain of the now
well-anaesthetized injuries. 'She was a good girl until they
come. A good biddable girl!'
Tashvi gestured peremptorily to the two litter-men to take
the man out. Then he turned back to the Weyrleaders.
'I did approve the new mine, and Boris and Ganmar as

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owners, but I'd no idea that Lavel was in any way involved.
He's a troublemaker from way back,' Tashvi said, absently
shifting his feet on the hot sands.
Zulaya gestured for them all to leave the Hatching Ground.
Despite the extra lining she'd put in her boots this morning,
she was uncomfortable standing there, and Tashvi was wear-
ing light pull-ons.
'And it's not that he doesn't have other daughters,' said
Salda, taking her husband's arm to speed up his progress.
He's got upwards of a dozen children and had two wives
already. At the rate he's been making these arrangements of
his, he'll have himself sufficient land among his relatives to
start his own Hold. Not that anyone in their right mind would
want him as a Lord Holder.'
They paused outside the Ground now. Adroitly, Zulaya and
K'vin chose a position so that they could also keep a weather
eye on the newly-hatched who, with the help of their riders,
were rapidly devouring the piles of cut meat prepared for
their initial feeding.
Debera's situation was unusual. Most families were glad
enough to have a child chosen on Search, because of the
advantages of having a dragonrider in the family: the com-
bination of the prestige accrued to the Bloodline as well as
the availability of transport.

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H
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Listening to the vitriol in Lavel's criticism of Weyr life upset
both Weyrleaders and Lord Holders. It was true that certain
customs and habits had been developed in the Weyrs to suit
dragon needs, but promiscuity was certainly not encouraged.
In fact, there was a very strictly observed code of conduct
within the Weyr. There might not be formal union contracts
but no rider reneged on his word to a woman, nor failed to
make provision for any children of the pairing. And few
Weyrbred children, reaching puberty, left the Weyr for the
grandparental holds even if they failed to Impress.
Right now, the festivities had already started in the Main
Cavern, with the instrumentalists playing a happy tune, one
that reflected the triumph of a successful Hatching. Although
the new riders were still feeding their dragons or settling them
into the weyrling barracks, once the sated dragonets fell asleep
the new dragonmen and women would join their relatives.
Zulaya wondered if she should remind Lavel that the
female riders were housed separately from the males. He
obviously had no idea at all how much care a new dragonet
required from its human. Most days the weyrlings fell into
bed too exhausted to do anything BUT sleep. And had to be
rousted out of their bunks by the Weyrlingmaster when they
failed to respond to their hungry dragons' summonses.
The young lad, Ganmar, sulked, looking decidedly uncom-
fortable in his present situation. Zulaya doubted that his heart
was the least bit broken by this turn of events. Of course, if
he had to work with that father of his building a new hold,
maybe a pretty girl to bed at night would have been a major
compensation.
'What I should like to know,' Salda was saying, 'is why
Debera arrived here so late, on her own and with you
evidently in hot pursuit. You realize, of course,' and the stern
expression in Salda's eyes was one Zulaya knew well, 'that
we - Lord Tashvi and I - would not be at all pleased to find
that Debera has been denied her holder rights.'
'Holder?' Lavel snorted and then moaned as the injudicious
movement caused him pain. 'She'll not be a holder now, will
she? She'll be lost to us for ever, she will.'

'And any chance of bagging her legal land allotment,' Salda
said with mock remorse. Lavel growled and tried to turn away
from the Lady Holder. 'You've claimed more than most as it
is. I trust Gisa is in good health? Or have you got yet another
child on her? You'll wear her out the same as you did Milla,
you know. But I suppose there are women stupid enough to
fall for your ever-increasing land masses. Ssshish,' and Salda
turned from him in disgust. 'Get him out of my sight. He
offends me. And sullies the spirit of this occasion.'
'He's not so wounded he can't travel,' the medic said
helpfully.
'Travel?' Boris exclaimed, pretending dismay as he had
glanced in the direction of the Lower Cavern where the roasts

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were being served.
'I could find him a place overnight,' Maranis began
hesitantly.
Just then four young weyrfolk led up the visitors' horses
which they had recaptured.
'Ah, here are your mounts, Boris,' Zulaya said. 'Let us not
keep you from a safe journey home. You should easily make
it back before dark. Maranis, give Lavel enough fellis juice
to see him to his hold. Lads, help him mount. Come, K'vin,
we're overlong congratulating the happy parents.'
She linked her right arm in K'vin's and her left with Lady
Salda and hauled them along across the Bowl.
'A very good Hatching, I'd say,' she began, without a
backward look at the three dismissed holders. 'Nineteen
greens, fifteen blues, ten browns and seven bronzes. Good
distribution, too. Good size to the bronzes as well. I do believe
every clutch produces dragons just slightly larger than the
last.'
'Dragons haven't yet reached their design size,' K'vin said,
answering her lead. 'I doubt we'll see that in our lifetime.'
'Surely they're big enough already?' asked Salda, her eyes
wide.
Zulaya laughed. 'Larger by several hands than the first ones
who fought Thread, which will make it all that much easier
for us this time round.'

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'You know what to expect, too,' Tashvi said, nodding
approval.
Zulaya and K'vin exchanged brief glances. Hopefully, what
they could expect did not include unwelcome surprises.
'Indeed we have the advantage of our ancestors in that,'
K'vin said stoutly.
Zulaya gave his arm a little squeeze before she released
him and strode to the first table where the families of two new
brown riders were sitting. K'vin continued in with Salda and
saw her and Tashvi settled at the head table, where he
and Zulaya would join them after they'd done their obligatory.
rounds of the tables. Then, making a private bet with himself,
he started at the opposite end of the wide Cavern.
By the fourth stop, he had won his bet: news of the unusual
Impression of the last green dragon was already circulating.
'Is it true,' the holder mother of a bronze rider asked, 'that
that girl had to run away from her hold?' She, and the others
at this table, were clearly appalled at such a circumstance.
'She got here in time, that's what's important,' K'vin said,
glossing over that query.
'What if she hadn't come?' asked one of the adolescents,
her expression avid. 'Would the dragon have...'
She stopped abruptly - as if she'd been kicked under the
table, K'vin thought, suppressing a grin.
'Ah,' he said, bridging the brief pause, 'but I'm sure you
saw that other lads crowded round, ready and willing. The
dragonet would have chosen one of them.'
That was not exactly true. Which was why every Weyr had
more than sufficient candidates on the Ground during a
Hatching. Early on, the records mentioned five occasions
when a dragonet had not found a compatible personality. Its
subsequent death had upset the Weyr to the point where
every effort was then made to eliminate a second occur-
rence, including accepting the dragonet's choice from among
spectators.
There were also cases where an egg did not hatch. In the
early days, when the technology had still been available,
necropsies had been performed to establish cause. In most of

the recorded instances, there had been obvious yolk problems,
or the creature had been misformed and would not have
survived Hatching. Three times, however, the cause of death
could not be established as the foetus had been perfect, with
no apparent deficiency or disability. The message was handed
down to dispose of such unhatched eggs bet~veen immediately:
a duty performed on such rare occasions by the Weyrleader
and his bronze.
'I saw her ride up,' said the girl, delighted to recount this

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Page 54

fact. 'And then the men who tried to stop her.'
'You must have had the best seat in the house,' K'vin told
her, grinning.
The girl shot a vindictive glance around the table. 'Yes, I
did, didn't I? I saw it all! Even when the dragonet tried to eat
someone. Was that her father?'
'Suze, now, that's enough of that,' said her own father, and
the older boy beside her must have pinched her for she shot
straight up on the bench and glared at him. 'Yes, it was her father,' K'vin
said.
'Didn't he know any better than to strike a dragon's rider?'
asked Suze's father, shocked by such behaviour.
'I think he has perceived his error,' K'vin said dryly and
caught Suze's startled reaction. 'What has your son (and
Charanth, as he always did, supplied the boy's name from his
dragon's mind so quickly that the pause was almost un-
noticeable), Thomas, decided on for a rider name?'
'Well, I don't think Thomas dared to hope,' his mother
replied, but her expression expressed both her pride in his
modesty and her delight in his success.
'He never liked being a Thomas,' Suze said, irrepressible.
'He'll pick a new name,' and she gave a snide sideways glance
at her parent.
'And here he is, if I don't miss my guess,' K'vin said,
gesturing towards the lad making his way across the Cavern
floor. K'vin had lectured the candidates on their responsi-
bilities to their dragonets so he was familiar with many of
them. This Thomas, or whatever, bore a strong enough
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'Well done, young man,' K'vin said, holding out his hand.

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'And how shall we style you now?'
'S'mon, Weyrleader,' the new bronze rider said, still flushed
with elation. He had a good firm handshake. 'I considered
T'om, but I never liked the nickname.'
'You said you'd...' Suze got yet another kick under the
table, for she yipped this time and tears started in her eyes.
'It's easier to say,' S'mon said. 'Tiabeth likes it.' Now he
showed the delightful confusion of pride and proprietariness
so many brand-new weyrlings exhibited while accustoming
themselves to their new condition and duties. As K'vin
remembered so vividly, that took time. 'And there was a
T'mas in the first group at Benden.'
'He's long dead,' his father said, not altogether pleased with
his son's choice. 'Thomas is a family name,' he admitted to
K'vin. 'I'm Thomas, ninth of my line.'
The boy looked at his father with that curious aloofness of
independence that came with being a newly paired dragon-
rider: sort of 'you can't tell me what to do any more' and 'this
is my business, Dad, you wouldn't understand.'
'Tiabeth and S'mon,' K'vin said, lifting the glass he'd been
carrying from table to table and drinking a toast to the
partners. The others made haste to repeat it. 'Eat, S'mon.
You'll need every meal you get a chance to eat,' he added
and left the boy to follow that very good advice.
At each subsequent table, he heard more speculation about
the late arrival of Debera. There had been embellishments:
one had her father bleeding to death. Another variation
suggested that Debera had been the reluctant one and her
family had insisted that she try to Impress, having been
Searched. Young Suze had had the best seat in the Hatching
Ground after all, despite being so far from the centre that she
hadn't had a good view of Impression, but a perfect one
for what was happening outside. So he edited the facts to
keep the incident from getting out of hand. Fortunately, the
music the band was playing, and the lyrics, provided a happy

distraction. Most of the music was new. Clisser's musicians
had done their job very well indeed.
K'vin avoided having his glass filled too often and used
slices of the roast wherry and beef to sop up what was required
by the obligatory toasting of the new riders.
He had almost completed his circuit when he saw the Telgar
Holders and T'dam leading Debera in, all moving towards
the head table. Salda and Tashvi rose and went to meet her
half-way. She still had a dazed look on her face and glanced,
almost wildly, around the crowded Cavern. Someone had
given her a green gown which showed off a most womanly
body, and the style of it as well as the colour suited Debera.
The deep, clear green set off her fine complexion and a head
of curling bronze-coloured hair which was now attractively
dressed, not straggling unkempt around a sweaty distraught
face. No doubt Tisha, the headwoman, had had a hand in
the transformation. Zulaya had once said Tisha treated all the
weyrgirls like live dolls, dressing them up and fussing with
their hair. Nor was Tisha herself childless, but her excess of
maternal instinct was an asset in the Weyr.

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Salda put an arm about Debera, her head inclined to the
shorter girl as she chatted; evidently determined to make up
for the lack of family members on what was generally a very
happy occasion for holder or crafter. Had Debera seen the
last of her relatives? No matter, she was in the larger,
extended family of the Weyr and could find more amiable
and sympathetic replacements.
Zulaya was introducing Debera to Sarra, the sun-bleached
blonde from Ista who was chatting away with such animation
that Debera smiled - tentatively, K'vin thought, but with
growing self-confidence.
'You got Morath to sleep all right.'?' he asked, joining the
women.
'I thought she'd never stop eating,' Debera said, a slightly
anxious frown on her face. Her green eyes, K'vin saw, were
also emphasized by the colour of the gown. Tisha had done
her proud.
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Salda gave a good-natured snort, grinning down at Debera.
'Not likely. We've been sending you the fatted calves for the

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past week in anticipation.' She turned to the girl as she passed
her over to K'vin. 'One thing sure, girl, you'll eat higher on
the hog here in Telgar than you ever did at home. And not
have to cook it!'
Debera was so clearly startled by such jocularity that K'vin
took her hand, guiding her to the steps up to the platform on
which the head table was placed.
'I think you'll be very happy here, Debera,' he said gently,
'with Morath as your friend.'
Immediately the girl's face softened with joy and her eyes
watered. Her look of vulnerable wonder struck such a respon-
sive chord in him that he stumbled in following her.
'Oh, and she is more than a friend,' she said, more like a
prayer than a statement of fact.
'Come, sit beside me,' said Zulaya, pulling out the chair,
and signalling K'vin to take the one beyond. They were not
in their usual centre table position, but quick eye contact with
Salda and Tashvi had the Holders pulling out those chairs as
if such placement was normal. 'Listen to that melody. How
lovely...' she added, tilting her head as the music, not quite
martial but firm, was stopping conversation throughout the
Cavern.
'So are the words...' Salda said, eyes widening in surprise,
~ '~[[ as deI'~ht~ at what she heard. When her husband
started to say something, she hushed him. K'vin was happy to listen, too.
Sheledon, who had insisted on using the Telgar Impression
as the debut of some new music, was very pleased that
conversation had trailed off and everyone was hearing what
was being sung. Now was the time to spring the big one on
them. As soon as the coda on what Jemmy called 'Dragonlove'
had finished, he held up the music to the 'Duty Ballad' and
then pointed it at Sydra who would sing the boy soprano part.
They hadn't found a lad with a suitable voice yet, but she

could whiten her voice to approximate the tone. At Sheledon's
signal, Bethany piped the haunting notes of the intro and
Sydra rose to sing the opening verse.
All right, they didn't have enough trained voices to really
sock the 'Ballad' to this audience - in his mind, Sheledon
'heard' what a full chorus would sound like - but the excellent
accoustics in the Cavern were a big help. And the music
captivated. Sydra managed to sound very young and awed...
Gollagee came in with his fine tenor as the dragonrider,
Sheledon was right on cue with his baritone part and then,
with Bethany singing alto and the Weyr's own musicians
adding their voices, they wound it all up.
There was just one split second's total silence - the sort
that makes performers rejoice I and then everyone was
standing, wildly cheering, clapping, stamping their approval.
Even the dragons joined in from outside, caught up in their
riders' enthusiasms. Sydra kept bowing and urging the rest of
the musicians to stand and accept the accolades. Even Bethany
stood, a few tears trickling down her cheeks at such a
unanimous reception.
They gave five encores of the 'Ballad' - with people adding
their voices to the chorus as they quickly picked up on the
words. When Sheledon ruefully waved off a sixth repeat, there

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were calls for the 'Dragonlove' song which was so appropriate
for this evening.
All in all, Sheledon decided as he caught Sydra's smiling
face, a very successful debut! Jemmy had outdone himself
and Clisser would be delighted. Perhaps there was something
to Clisser's notion of redesigning the educational system so
less time would be wasted on unessentials and the 'Real
Meaning of Life' could be addressed sooner.

Life in the Weyrling Barracks and
at the College

It was the Weyrwoman, Zulaya, who noticed Debera's in-
creasing nervousness.
'Go on back to Morath, m'dear. You're exhausted and
you'll need your sleep.'
'Thank you... ah...'
'We make no use of titles in the Weyr,' Zulaya added. 'Just
go. I've given you permission, if that's what you were so
politely waiting for.'
Debera murmured her thanks and rose, wanting to slip out
as inconspicuously as possible. She'd felt so awkward and
unsocial, even when everyone, even the Lord and Lady
Holder - she couldn't reconcile their behaviour with her
father's stories about them, but she intended to forget every-
thing he'd ever told her - had been so incredibly kind and
easy. She thought they would expect her to give an explana-
tion of her unusual behaviour, but they'd supported her

instantly. Really, it was as if her real life had started the
moment she and Morath had locked eyes.
It had, she decided as she made her way along the side of
the Cavern wall, head down so she needn't make eye con-
tact with anyone. She saw only smiles from folks as she
passed them, smiles and courtesy. And certainly none of the
lascivious behaviour that her father had often said was
prevalent in the Weyr.
Of course he'd told her a lot of things. And not told her
others. Like the fact that an official announcement of Search,
with her name on it, had been delivered to the hold so that
she'd know when to come, to be available for the Hatching.
No, she'd had to find that, stuffed in the cupboard where bits
and pieces that could be re-used were kept. No-one at Balan
Hold, especially her father and stepmother, Gisa, would have
thrown out a whole sheet of paper that had a clean side that
could be recycled. How she hated that word! Cycle, re-cycle.
Use, re-use. The concept dominated every aspect of Balan
Hold. And they were not 'poor' in material possessions: not
the way some holders were. But 'poor' Balan Hold had been
in spirit ever since her mother had died.
She'd been looking for something else entirely when she
found the sheet. Not that she knew the day's date, but it was

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obvious that the announcement must have come some time
before, the paper being soiled and the creases well set. Maybe
even weeks. She had been ready to accept Ganmar as an
alternative to continued living in her father's house. She'd
known that she'd have to work as hard, if not harder, setting
up a new hold, chiselling it out of rock above the mine, but
it would have been hers - and Ganmar's - and something she
could design to her own wishes. Not that she'd been inclined
to believe any of the blithe and extravagant promises Ganmar
or Boris had made her. All they wanted was a strong body
with lots of hard work in it.
But she had seen a lot of dragons in the sky the day before,
most of them carrying passengers. Balan Hold was not that
far from Telgar Weyr - not even by surface travel. So, the
moment she'd read the message, she'd made her plans right

then, without any havering. She'd been Searched; she had the
right to be there. No matter how life in the Weyr might be,
it couldn't be worse than what she now endured. And if she
could be a dragonrider...
Debera had tucked the paper into her hip pocket and
slammed the drawer shut. She was alone in the kitchen, and
sun was streaming in, almost as if adding light to her resolve.
She didn't even go back to the room she shared with her three
half-sisters, but grabbed her jacket and made for the paddock
where the riding horses were kept. There was no-one about
in the yard: all were at work. Assignments had been given
out over breakfast, and everyone had better show their father
completed chores or there'd be no lunch break until they were
done.
She didn't even dare collect a saddle or bridle from the
barn because her eldest brothers were restacking hay - they'd
done a sloppy job of it the first time round. She just grabbed
up a leather thong. Since she'd had the most to do with the
hold horses, she'd have little trouble managing any of them
with just a lip rein.
Bilwil would be the fastest. She had probably three hours
before the midday meal when her absence would be noticed.
By then, she'd be well up the track to the Weyr.
With one look over her shoulder to see if she was being
observed, she walked quickly - as if she were on an errand -
to the paddock. Bilwil was not far from the fence which she
climbed - the gate would be too near the vegetable garden
where two half-sisters were weeding. They loved nothing
better than to report her 'idling ways' to either their mother
or her father. Two brothers in the barn, the next pair out with
him in the forestry, and her stepmother in the dairy hold
making cheese. Debera had been grinding wheat for flour
when the cotter pin had snapped. That's what she'd been
trying to find in the drawer; a nail or something to replace
the cotter pin so she could continue her task. So Gisa wouldn'l

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miss her for a while to sound an alarm. For until flour had
been made there'd be no bread and Gisa wouldn't want tc
turn that heavy stone, not pregnant as she was.

she approached him and
grabbed h~s forelock. Nc~-one had bothered to groom him last
nighta, ,n, hcl ~~ 's, c~ ~oa,.tw~ ro, ugh, wi!h perspiration from yester-
day's timber hauFmg. Maybe she should take one of the ()thers.
But B'lw'- ~ ~I had lowered his head to accept the twist of thong
arou~ nd his lower jaw. She could scarcely risk chasing a
better-r ~s..e .ted, les. s arn.e.nab. le .moun. t about the paddock so she
inserted the re'n, g~ rabbed a handful of mane and vaulted to
his back.~ ,,W~o, uld, she b~e ,vault!ng to the back of a dragon
tomorrow'? She lay as flat as she could across his neck, just
in case someo e In ooked out across the paddock, and kneed
him forward two ards the forest.
Just before they reached the intertwined hedging that
marked the far boundary, she took one more look back at the
hold buildings - windows chiselled out of the very rock,
the uneven entrance to the main living quarters, the wider
one into the animal hold. Not a soul in sight.
'C'mon, Bilwil, let's get out of here,' she'd murmured
and kicked him sharply into a trot, heading him right at
the fence, a point not far from one of the tracks through the
forest.
It was a good thing Bilwil liked to jump anyhow, because
she'd given him only enough room to gather himself up. But
he was nimbly over and had planted his left front foot,
swinging left on it in response to her pull on his mouth and
her right heel as he brought his other feet down. In moments
they were among the trees and quickly reached the track.
Bilwil tried once to pull to the left, to go back to the hold,
but she kicked him sharply and he went right. They were far
enough from the hold so that his hoofbeats wouldn't be
audible - not unless someone had their ear to the ground,
which was unlikely. Noses would be to the grindstones, where
hers no longer was. The thought made her grin, though she
was not as yet safe from discovery.
As soon as the track widened, she set Bilwil to a canter,
enjoying the one activity in which she took any pleasure.
She stopped several times, to rest her own backside as well
as Bilwil's... and found late berries to eat. She really ought

to have snatched up the last of the breakfast cheese or even
an apple or two to tide her on the way.
It wasn't until she reached the final leg of the journey up
to the Telgar Weyr that she was aware of pursuit. Or at least
spied three horsemen on the road. They could well be visitors,
coming for the Hatching, but it was prudent to suspect the
worst. Her father could be one, and possibly Boris and
Ganmar the other two. Either way, she had to get to the safety
of the Weyr before they caught her up. How had they made
so much time in pursuit of her? Had someone seen her after
all and run to alert Lavel?

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A long tunnel had been carved in the thinnest wall of the
Telgar Crater as access for surface traffic. It was lit with glow
baskets. Bilwil was tired from the last long, steep climb on
top of yesterday's work. She thought she heard male voices
yelling at her and kicked Bilwil into a weary trot. No matter
how she used her heels on his ribs, he wouldn't extend his
stride. Then she heard the humming - as if it emanated from
the walls around her. She knew what that meant and she gave
a cry of despair.
After all this, she'd be too late and there wouldn't be a
dragon left for her to Impress . . . even if she had been
Searched. How could she possibly go back? She wouldn't.
She knew her rights. She'd been Searched. She could stay at
the Weyr until the next clutch. Anything was preferable to
going back to what she'd just left. The union with Ganmar
would not have been any real improvement, although she
had been determined to establish a proper relationship
with the young miner. He looked impressible. Her own
mother had told her that there were ways of handling a
man so he didn't even know he was being managed. But
Milla had died before she could impart those ways to her
daughter. And Gisa, who had probably given up all thought
of a second union if she had been desperate enough to
partne~' her father, was a natural victim who enjoyed being
dominated.
More hoofsteps sounded in the tunnel and, desperate to
reach her objective, Debera kicked Bilwil on. The gallant

animal fell into a heavy canter that jarred every bone in her
body but they made it into the Bowl.
Debera could see that not only was the Hatching Ground
full of people, but also new, staggering dragonets. But, as she
got close enough, she saw there were still a few eggs. Her
pursuers were catching up. She had no need to halt Bilwil at
the entrance; he stopped moving forward the moment she
stopped kicking him. She slid off and raced towards the
Hatching Ground just as her father, Boris and Ganmar caught
up, yelling at her to stop. To come to her senses . . . She
wrenched herself free of grasping hands . . . just in time to
reach Morath. And finally came into her own.
Now, as she made her way back to the weyrling barracks,
she was as tired as she had ever been in her life and far
happier! As she rattled the door in her nervousness to open
it, T'dam poked his head out of the boys' barracks next door.
'Back, are you? Well, she hasn't moved so much as a
muscle. And I don't think you will either, will you?'
She shook her head, too tired to speak. She opened one
side of a door wide enough to accommodate wing-trailing
dragonets and slipped inside, turning to close it after her but
T'dam came in as well, reaching up to turn the glow basket
open. As well he did, because Debera would have knocked
into the first of the dragonet beds.
These were basically simple wooden platforms, raised half
a metre above the ground, ample enough for dragons until
they were old enough to be transferred to a permanent weyr
apartment. The rider's bed was a trundle affair to one side of

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the dragon's, with storage space underneath and a deep chest
at the foot.
She skirted the bed, relieved she had not awakened the
occupant, and got to Morath's, the next one in. And hers.
There were several items of clothing on the chest.
'Tisha sent in some other things since you weren't able to
bring any changes with you,' T'dam said. 'And a nightdress,
I believe. Open the glow above the bed and then I'll shut this
one.'
When she had done so, he closed the larger one and then

Was that how dragonets slept? Wondering at the good fortune
that had happened to her this day, Debera watched the
sleeping dragonet as dearly as any mother observed a new-
born, much wanted child. Morath's belly still bulged witE
uneven lumps from all the meat she had eaten. T'dam had
laughed when Debera worried that the dragonet would make
herself sick with such greed.
'They repeat the process six or seven times a day the first
month,' he'd warned her. 'You'll end up thinking you've spent
x~x~~ a~x~/xl. she settles to the usual

own at that.'
Debera smiled, rem.
ing that T'dam had no
such an easy job, the
love and so grate~lly
beloved Morath, want:
but not ~shing to dist]
all but asleep herselL S
just watching Morath's
Then she could no Ion,
She was the lone h
barracks. Well, the oth›
Who'd have thought tt
sleeping ~th dragons
slipped out of the fine c
the ~reen Aown one
o onna on her body and
loveliest thing she had
mother's dresses which ou
Debera shrugged into th
bouquet of the herbs in w]
had time to gather the
with her mother.
She pulled back the

the door behind him. Immediately he had, she examined
Morath, curled tightly on her platform, wings over her eyes.
Was that how dragonets slept? Wondering at the good fortune
that had happened to her this day, Debera watched the
sleeping dragonet as dearly as any mother observed a new-

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born, much wanted child. Morath's belly still bulged with
uneven lumps from all the meat she had eaten. T'dam had
laughed when Debera worried that the dragonet would make
herself sick with such greed.
'They repeat the process six or seven times a day the first
month,' he'd warned her. 'You'll end up thinking you've spent
all your life chopping gobbets until she settles to the usual
three meals a day. But don't worry. By the end of her first
year, she'll be eating only twice a week - and catching her
own at that.'
Debera smiled, remembering that conversation and think-
ing that T'dam had no idea what a relief it would be to have
such an easy job, the doing of which would be a labour ot
love and so gratefully received. She held her hand over her
beloved Morath, wanting to caress this so-beloved creature
but not wishing to disturb her - especially when Debera was
all but asleep herself. She lingered though, despite weariness,
just watching Morath's ribs rise and fall in sleeping rhythm.
Then she could no longer resist fatigue.
She was the lone human in the weyrling barn . . . no,
barracks. Well, the others had their families to celebrate with.
Who'd have thought that Debera of Balan Hold would be
sleeping with dragons this night? She certainly hadn't. She
slipped out of the fine dress now, smoothed the soft fabric of
the green gown one last time as she folded it. It had felt so
good on her body and was such a becoming colour: quite the
loveliest thing she had ever worn. Gisa had got all her
mother's dresses which ought by custom to have come to her.
Debera shrugged into the nightgown, aware of the subtle
bouquet of the herbs in which it had been stored. Once she'd
had time to gather the fragrant flowers and leaves for sachets
with her mother.
She pulled back the thick woollen blanket, fingering its

softness, and not regretting in the slightest the overwashed
and thin ones she had shared with her step-sisters. The pillow
was thick under her cheek, too, as she put her head down,
and soft and redolent of yet more fragrances. That was all she
had time to think.

Back at the College, Sheledon, Bethany and Sydra arrived
a-dragonback, full of the ardent reception they'd had at Telgar
Weyr.
'I don't know why we didn't think of Teaching Ballads
before now,' said Sydra, slightly hoarse from all the singing
she'd done the night before.
'Too bad we hadn't the selections ready for the other
two Impressions,' Sheledon said, for he invariably saw dis-
advantages everywhere. 'Are there any more upcoming?'
'Well, there're Year's End celebrations . ' Bethany
replied.
'We tend to stay here for them,' said Sheledon, not wanting
to miss the feasts that Chrislee generally provided for those
holidays. The senior teachers at the College invariably were
included on the Fort guest list and never missed such oppor-
tunities, even if they had the option of returning to their native
hearths for the three-day celebration.

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'Maybe this once,' Sydra began, looking at Sheledon, 'we
should go home and spread the word.'
Bethany frowned. 'The full chorus and accompaniment is
what makes the songs so effective...'
Sheledon frowned. 'We can certainly organize substantial
groups for the main Holds. The dragonriders always come as
guests anyway, so they'd all get a chance to hear...' Then
he smiled down at his wife, settling an affectionate arm across
her shoulders. 'You sure did the boy soprano bit well. But I
think we'd best get the juvenile voice for Year's End. You're
hoarse today.'
'Halllooo down there,' and they all looked up to see Clisser,
bending far out from an upper window and waving at them.
'Did the Ballads work?' he yelled, hands to his mouth.

The musicians looked at each other, Sheledon counted the
beat and they roared back. 'THEY LOVED US!'
Clisser made a broad OK gesture with both hands and then
waved them to go to his office in the original section of the
facility.
They reached it first, still elated with the success of their
performance, an elation which began to disperse when they
saw Clisser's expression.
'What's the matter?' asked Bethany, half rising from her
chair.
'The computers went down and Jemmy thinks they're
totally banjaxed now,' Clisser said glumly, flopping into the
chair at his desk, his body slack in despair.
'What happened? They were working perfectly,' Sheledon
said, scowling. 'What was Jemmy...'
Clisser held up one hand. 'Not Jeremy...'
'One of those students hacking around . . .' Sheledon's
expression suggested dire punishments.
Clisser shook his head. 'Lightning...'
'Lightning? But we had no storm warnings...'
'Fried all the solar panels, too, although at least we can
replace those. Corey lost her system, what was left of it,
including the diagnostics she's been trying so desperately to
transcribe.'
Made speechless by such a catastrophe, Sheledon sat down
heavily on the corner of the desk while Sydra leaned dis-
consolately against the wall.
'How much is gone?' Bethany asked, trying to absorb the
disaster.
'All of it,' and Clisser flicked his fingers before he clasped
them together across his chest, chin down.
'But . . . but, surely, it's only a matter . . .' Sheledon
began.
'The motherboards are charcoal and glue,' Clisser said
dully. 'Jemmy's gone through every box of chips we had left,
and there aren't enough to rebuild even a few meg - and that
wouldn't operate the system. Even part of the system. It's
gone,' and he waved his hand helplessly again.

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There was silence for long moments as those in the room
struggled to cope with such a massive loss.
'How much did the students . . .' Bethany began, cutting
her sentence off as Clisser waved, almost irritably, to silence
her. 'Surely they saved something...'
'Something, but nowhere near what we need, what was wait-
ing to be copied, a mere fraction of what we need to know...'
'Look, Clisser,' Bethany said gently, 'what have we really
lost?'
He jerked his head up, glaring at her. 'What have we really
lost? Why, everything!'
Sheledon and Sydra were regarding Bethany as if she had
run mad.
'The history we are already seeing as irrelevant to our lives
now?' she asked softly. 'Descriptions of archaic devices and
procedures which have no relevance on Pern since we no
longer operate an advanced technological society? Isn't that
what you were doing anyway, Clisser? Changing the direction
of teaching in line to what is needed in this time, on this planet,
and disregarding I don't know how many gigabytes of stored
information that is irrelevant! Now that we don't have to
worry about all that,' and her hand airily dismissed the loss,
'we can forge ahead and not have to concern ourselves with
translating useless trivia for posterity. So I ask you, what have
we really lost?'
Silence extended until Sheledon uttered a sharp laugh. 'You
know, she may be right. We've been knocking ourselves out
copying down stuff that won't work here on Pern anyhow.
Especially,' and his voice hardened, 'since no-one back on
Earth cares enough to find out what's happened to us.'
Sydra regarded her husband with a blink. 'Not that old
Tubberman homing tube business again?'
Sheledon went defensive. 'Well, we know from...'
'... the Records...' Sydra said with a malicious grin, and
Sheledon flushed, 'that the message tube was sent without
Admiral Benden's authority. Without the name of a colony
leader on it, no-one on Earth would have paid it any heed -
if it even got to Earth in the first place.'

'Someone could have come and had a look-see,' Sheledon
said.
'Oh, come now, Shel,' said Bethany, as amused by his
sudden switch for he had always derided the Tubberman
Tube Theory. 'Pern isn't rich enough for anyone to bother
about.'
'So the precious records said, but I think that was to save
face. They should have checked on us to see how we were
faring . . . They got awfully proprietary about the Shavian
colonies that were the basic reason for the Nathi Space War.'
'That was over three hundred years ago, Shel,' Bethany
said in her patient teacher-tone.
'And it is totally irrelevant to now,' Sydra added. 'Look,
the loss of the computers is undeniably a blow to us, but not
something we cannot overcome...'
'But all that information...' cried Clisser, tears coming to
his eyes.
'Clisser, dear,' and Bethany leaned across to him, patting

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his hand gently, 'we still have the best computers ever
invented . . .' and she tapped her forehead, 'and they're
crammed full of information: more than we really need to
operate...'
'But... but, now we'll never find out how to preserve vital
information - like early warning of the return of the Red Star.'
'We'll think of something,' she said in such a confident tone
that it penetrated Clisser's distress. And briefly he looked a
trifle brighter.
Then he slumped down in even deeper despair. 'But we've
failed the trust placed in us to keep the data available...'~
'Nonsense!' Sheledon said vehemently, crashing one fist
down on the desk-top. 'We've kept them going past their
design optimum. I've read enough in the old manuals to
appreciate that. Every year for the past fifty has been a
miracle. And we haven't, as Bethany says, lost all. A gimmick
from the past has failed, like so many of them have. And we're
now going to have to bypass the easy access to data they
provided and sweat through books! Books! Books that we
have in quantity.'

Clisser blinked. He shook his head as if mentally rejecting
a thought.
'We have been planning to ignore much of the old data,'
Bethany said gently. 'What was most important to us...' and
her hand indicated the Pern of the present, 'has been copied
ú.. well, most of it,' she amended when Clisser opened his
mouth. 'If we haven't needed it up to now, we never will.'
'But we've lost the sum total of human...' Clisser began...
'Ha!' Sydra said. 'Ancient history, man. We've survived on
Pern and it is PERN that's important. As Bethany said, if we
haven't needed it up to now, we never will. So calm down.'
Clisser scrubbed at his skull with both hands. 'But how will
I tell Paulin?'
'Didn't the lightning affect Fort, too.9' asked Sheledon and
answered himself. 'I thought I saw a work force on the solar
heights.'
Clisser threw both hands up in the air. 'I told him we were
checking the damage...'
'Which is total?' Sheledon asked.
'Total!' and Clisser dropped his head once again to his chest
in resignation to the inevitable.
'It's not as if you caused the storm or anything, Cliss,'
Bethany said.
He gave her a burning look.
'Was the system being run at the time?' Sheledon asked.
'Of course not,' Clisser said emphatically, scowling at
Sheledon. 'You know the rule. All electronics are turned off
in any storm.'
'And they were?'
'Of course they were.'
Bethany exchanged a look with Sheledon as if they did not
credit that assurance. They both knew that Jemmy would work
until he fell asleep over the keyboard.
'I tell you,' and Clisser went on, 'everything powered went
down. It's just luck that the generators have all those surge
protectors, but even those didn't save the computers. The

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surge came in on the data bus, not the power lines.'
'Which were dying anyway. They were now dead, really

P
0

P
h

v
s

truly dead,' Sheledon said firmly. 'Rest in peace. I'll go and
tell Paulin if he's who you're worried about.'
'I am not,' and Clisser banged his fist on the table, 'worried
about Paulin. And it's my duty to tell him.'
'Then also tell him that our new teaching techniques are in
place and that we've lost nothing that future generations will
need to know,' said Sydra.
'But... but... how do we know what they might need
to know?' Clisser asked, clearly still despairing with that
rhetorical question. 'We don't know the half of what we
should know.'
Bethany rose and took the two steps to the beverage
counter.
'It's not working either,' Clisser said in a sharp disgusted
tone, flicking one hand at it, insult on injury. 'I shall miss the
convenience,' she said.
'We all shall miss convenience,' said Clisser and exhaled
sharply, once again combing his hair back from his forehead
with impatient fingers.
'So,' said Sydra with a shrug of her shoulders, 'we use the
gas-ring instead. It heats water just as hot, if not as quickly.
Now, let's all go and get a reviving cup, shall we?' She took
Clisser by the hand, to tug him out of his chair. 'You look as
if you need reviving.'
'You're all high on last night's success,' he told them
accusingly, but he got to his feet.
'As well we are,' said Sheledon. 'The better to console you,
old friend.'
'Clisser,' Bethany began in her soft, persuasive voice, 'we
have known from our reading of the Second Crossing that the
artificial intelligence, the AIVAS, turned itself off. We know
why. Because it wisely knew that people were beginning to
think it was infallible: that it contained all the answers to all
Mankind's problems. Not just its history. Mankind had begun
not only to consider it an oracle but to depend on it far more
than was wise. For us. So it went down.
'We have let ourselves be guided too long by what we could

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read and extract from the data left to us on computer. We

100

have been too dependent. It is high time we stood squarely
on our own two feet . . .' She paused, twisting her mouth
wryly, to underscore her own uneven stance, '... and made
our own decisions. Especially when what the computers tell
us has less and less relevance to our current problems.'
'You said it, Bethany,' agreed Sheledon, nodding approval
with a little quirk of his mouth.
Clisser smoothed back his hair again and smiled ruefully.
'It would have been better if this could all have happened just
a little . . ' and he made a space between thumb and
forefinger, 'later. When we found what we need for the
dragonriders.'
'You mean, a fail-proof system to prove the Red Star's on
a drop course?' Sheledon asked and then shrugged. 'The best
minds on the continent are working on that problem.'
'We'll find a solution,' said Bethany, again with the oddly
calm resolution of hers. 'Mankind generally does, you know.'
'That's why we have dragons,' Sydra said. 'I could really
murder a cup of klah.'

101

v
s
v
›

Weyrling Barracks and Bitra Hold

An insistent, increasingly urgent sense of hunger nagged
Debera out of so deep a sleep she was totally disoriented.
The bed was too soft, she was alone in it, and neither the
sounds nor smells around her were familiar.
I really am most terribly hungry and I know that you were
very tired but my stomach is empty, empty, empty...
'MORATH!' Debera shot bolt upright and cracked her
poll on the underside of the dragonet's head because Morath
had been leaning over her bed. 'Ouch! Oh, dearest, I didn't
hurt you, did I?' Standing up in the bed, Debera wrapped
apologetic arms about Morath, stroking her cheeks and ear-
knobs, reassuring her with murmurs of regret and promises
to never hurt her again.
The little dragon refocused her eyes, whirling lightly,
but with only the faintest tinge of the red of pain and
alarm which dissipated quickly with such ardent reassur-
ances.

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Your head is much harder than it looks, she said, giving hers
a little shake.
Debera rubbed underneath the jaw where the contact had
been made.
'I'm so sorry, dearest,' and then she heard a giggle behind
her and swivelling around, half in anger, half in reflexive
defence, she saw that she was not alone in the weyrling
barracks. The blonde girl from Ista . . . Sarra, that was her
name... was sitting on the edge of her bed, folding clothes
into the chest. Her dragonet was still curled up in a tight
mound from which a slight snore could be heard.
'Ooops, no offence intended...' Sarra said, smiling with
such good nature that Debera immediately relaxed. 'You
should have seen the looks on your faces. Morath's eyes
nearly crossed when you cracked her.'
Debera rubbed the top of her head, grimacing, as she
descended from the bed.
'I was so deeply asleep... I couldn't think where I was at
first...'
'Morath's been as good as she could be,' Sarra said. 'T'dam
said to dress for dirty work. We're supposed to bathe and oil
them after their first nap of the day.'
That was when Debera remembered the pile of things she
had not properly sorted the previous night.
Does dressing take long? Morath asked plaintively.
'No, it doesn't, love,' and, turning her back in case Sarra
might be embarrassed, Debera hauled off the nightdress and
threw on the garments on the top of the pile - not new,
certainly, but suitable for rough work.
The socks were new, knitted of a sturdy cotton, and she
was especially grateful for them since the pair she had had on
yesterday had already been worn several days. She stamped
her feet into her own boots and stood.
'I'm ready, dear,' she said to the little green, who stepped
down off the raised platform and promptly fell on her
nose.
Sarra jumped the intervening bed to help right Morath,
struggling so hard to keep from laughing that she nearly

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•

choked. Once Debera saw that Morath had taken no hurt, she
grinned back at the Istan.
'Are they always this... ?'
Sarra nodded. 'So T'dam told us. You'll find a pail of meat
just outside the door... We get a break this first morning,'
and she wrinkled her nose in a grimace, 'but after today, it's

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up at the crack of dawn and carve up our darlings' breakfasts.'
There was a long snorting snore from Sarra's green and she
whirled, waiting to see if the dragonet was waking up. But the
snore trembled into a tiny soprano 'ooooooh' and then
resumed its rhythm.
'Did she do that all night long?' Debera asked.
I am SO hungry...
Debera was all apologies, and so was Sarra who sprinted
ahead to fling open both leaves of the door, making a
flourishing bow for their exit. Morath immediately crowded
against Debera, pushing her to the right, her young nose
detecting the enticing smell in the two covered pails on the
rack outside the barracks.
Debera lifted the pail down while Morath impatiently
nudged off the cover and seemed to inhale the gobbets.
Debera allowed her to fill her mouth and then started
shielding the pail with her body.
'You will chew what you eat, Morath, you hear me? You
could choke to death, and then where would I be?'
Morath gave her such a look of pained astonishment and
reproach that Debera couldn't remain stern.
'Chew,' she said, popping a handful of pieces into Morath's
open mouth. 'Chew!' she repeated and Morath obediently
exercised her jaws before spreading them wide again for
another batch. Debera had not tended the orphaned young
animals of her hold without learning some of the tricks.
Whoever had decided on the quantity, Debera thought,
knew the precise size of a dragonet's belly. Morath's demands
had slowed considerably as Debera reached the bottom of the
pail and the dragonet sighed before she swallowed the last.
'I see she's had breakfast,' said T'dam, appearing from
behind so suddenly that Morath squawked in surprise and

104

Debera struggled to get to her feet. T'dam's hand on her
shoulder pushed her back down.
'We're not formal in the Weyr, Debera,' he said kindly.
'Now, lead her over to the lake there,' and he gestured to the
right where Debera recognized the large mounds as sleeping
dragonets. 'Then, when she wakes up from this feed she'll be
just where you can bathe and oil her.' T'dam grinned. 'Before
you can feed her again, though...' and then he motioned to
his left. 'Are you squeamish?' he asked.
Debera took a good look in the direction he pointed and
saw six skinned carcasses, swaying from butchering tripods.
Weyrlings were busy with knives carving flesh off the bones,
or at the table chopping raw meat into dragonet morsels.
'Me?' Debera gave a cynical snort. 'Not likely.'
'Good,' T'dam said approvingly. 'Some of your peers are.
Come now, Morath,' he added in a totally altered tone, loving
and kind and wheedling, 'you'll need a little rest and the sands
by the lake are warm in the sun...'
Morath lifted her head, her eyes glistening bluey-green as
she regarded the Weyrlingmaster.
He is a nice man, she said and began to waddle towards the
lake: her swaying belly bulged lumpily with her meal.
'When you've settled her, Debera, be sure to get your own
breakfast in the kitchen. Good thing you're not squeamish

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ú . .' he said, turning away, but his chuckle drifted back to
Debera's ears.
It's awfully far to the lake, isn't it, Debera? Morath said,
puffing.
'Not really,' Debera said. 'Anyway, it's much too rocky
underfoot right here to make a comfortable bed for your
nap.'
Morath looked down her long nose, her left fore knocking
a stone out of her path. And she sighed. She kept going,
Debera encouraging her with every slow step, until they
reached the sandier ground surrounding the lake. It had
recently been raked, the marks visible between the paw- and
tail-prints of the dragonets. Debera urged Morath further on
to the sand, to an empty spot between two browns who were

105

tightly curled with wings to shield their eyes from the autumn
sun pouring down on them.
With a great sigh, Morath dropped her hindquarters to the
sand, with an I'm-not-going-a-step-further attitude and sank
slowly over to her right side. She curled her tail about her,
curved her head around under her left wing and, with a sweet
babyish croon rumbling in her throat, fell asleep.
Once again, Debera could barely bring herself to leave the
dragonet, lost in the wonder of having been acceptable to such
a marvellously lovable creature.
She'd been lonely and lacking in love for so long - ever
since her mother had died and her oldest full brother had left
the family Hold. Now she had Morath, all her very own, and
those long years of isolation faded into a trivial moment.
'She's perfectly safe here,' Debera told herself finally, and
forced herself to leave Morath and make her way across that
quadrant of the Bowl to the kitchen caverns. Enticing smells
of fresh bread and other viands made her quicken her steps.
She hoped she'd have enough restraint not to bolt her food
like her dragonet.
The kitchen cavern at Telgar Weyr was actually a series of
caves, each with an entrance, varying in size, width and height.
As Debera paused at the entrance of the nearest and smallest
one, she saw that hearths or ovens were ranged against the
outside wall, each with a separate chimney protruding up
the cliff face. Inside, the many long tables where last night
guests had been entertained were reduced to the number
needed by the regular population of the Weyr. But the interior
was busy as men and women went about food preparation
tasks.
'Breakfast's over there,' a woman said, smiling at Debera
and pointing. 'Porridge's still hot and the klah's fresh made.
Help yourself.'
Debera looked to her left to the farthest hearth, which had
tables and chairs set invitingly near it.
'There'll be fresh-baked bread soon, too, and I'll bring some
over,' the woman added and proceeded on her own business.
Debera had only just served herself a heaping of porridge

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- not a lump in it, nor a fleck of burn - and a cup of klah
when two boys, looking bewildered and not at all sure of how
to proceed, wandered in.
'The bowls are there, the cups there,' Debera said, pointing.
'And use that hunk of towel to hold the pot while you spoon
out the cereal. It's hot.'
They sent her tentative smiles - they must just be old
enough for Impression, she thought, feeling just a trifle older
and wiser. They managed - but not without slopping gobs of
porridge into the fire and jumping back from the hiss and
smell - to get enough in the bowls and to pour klah into their
cups.
'C'mon, sit here, I won't bite,' she said, tapping her table.
They were certainly not a bit sullen or grouchy, like her
younger half-brothers.
'You've a green, haven't you?' the first one asked. He had
a crop of black curls that had recently been trimmed very
close to his skull.
"Course she has a green, stoopid,' the other lad said,
elbowing the ribs of the first. 'I'm M'rak, and Caneth's my
bronze,' he added with a justifiable smirk of pride.
'My bronze is Tiabeth,' the black haired boy said, equally
as proud of his dragon, but added modestly, 'I'm S'mon.
What's yours called?'
'Morath,' and Debera found herself grinning broadly. Did
all new riders feel as besotted as this?
The boys settled into chairs and began to eat, almost as
eagerly as dragonets. Deliberately Debera slowed the rhythm
of her spoon. This porridge was really too good to gulp down:
not a husk nor a piece of grit in it. Obviously Telgar tithed
of its best to the Weyr, even with such a staple as oats for
porridge. She sighed, grateful for more than Impressing
Morath yesterday.
The boys suddenly stopped, spoons half lifted to their
mouths and, warned, Debera turned quickly. Bearing down
on their table was the unmistakable bulk of Tisha, the
headwoman of the Lower Cavern. Her broad face was
wreathed with a smile as generous as she was.

107

'How are you today? Settling in all right? Need anything
from stores? Parents will pack your Gather best, and you
really need your weeding worst,' she said, her rich contralto
voice bubbling with good humour. 'Breakfast all right?
Bread's just out of the oven and you can have all you want.'
She had halted by Debera's chair and her hands, shapely with
long strong fingers, patted Debera's shoulders lightly as if
imparting a special message to her along with that pressure.
'You lack something, come tell me, or mention it to T'dam.
You weyrlings shouldn't worry about anything other than
caring for your dragonets. That's hard work enough, I'm
telling you, so don't be shy, now.' She gave Debera a little
extra pat before she removed her hands.
'I didn't think to bring with me the gown you lent me last
night,' Debera said, wondering if that's what the subtle
mes.sage was.
'Heavens above, child,' said Tisha, big eyes even wider in
her round face, 'why, that dress was made for you, even if we

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didn't know you'd be coming.' Her deep chuckle made her
large breasts artd belly bounce.
'But it's far too good a dress . . .' Debera began in
test.
Tisha patted Debera's shoul~ler again. 'And fits you
perfection. I love making new clothes. My passion really, and
you'll see: I'm always working on something.' Pat, pat. 'But
if I'd no-one in mind when I cut and sewed it last your, I
couldn't have worked better for you if I'd tried. The dress is
yours. We all like to have something pretty to wear on Seventh
Day. Do you sew?' she asked, eyeing Debera hopefully.
'No, I'm afraid not,' Debera answered, lowering her eyes
for she remembered her mother with work in her hands in
the evenings, embroidering or sewing fine seams in Gather
clothes. Gisa barely managed to mend rips, and certainly
neither of her daughters was learning how to mend or make
garments.
'Well, I don't know what holder women are doing with their
young these days. Why, I had a needle in my hand by the
time I was three...' Tisha went on.

108

The boys' eyes were glazing over at the turn of the
conversation.
'And you'll learn to sew harness, my fine young friends,'
she said, wagging a finger at them. 'And boots and jackets,
too, if you've a mind to design your own flying wear.'
'Huh.'?' was M'rak's astonished reaction. 'Sewing's fer
women.'
'Not in the Weyr, it isn't,' Tisha said firmly. 'As you'll see
soon enough. It's all part of being a dragonrider. You'll learn.
Ah, now, here's the bread, butter and a pot of jam.'
Sure enough, another ample woman, grinning with the
pleasure of what she was about to bestow on them, deposited
the laden tray on the table.
'That should help, thank you, Allie,' Tisha said as Debera
added a murmur of appreciation and S'mon remembered his
manners, too. M'rak made no such delay in grabbing up a
piece of the steaming bread and cramming it into his mouth.
'Wow! Great!'
'Well, just be sure you don't lose it, preparing your
dragonet's next meal,' Tisha said and moved off before the
astonished bronze rider had absorbed her remark.
'What'd she mean by that?' he asked the others.
Debera grinned. 'Hold-bred?'
'Naw, m'family's weavers,' M'rak said. 'From Keroon Hold.'
'We have to cut up what our dragonets eat, though, don't
wet S.'mon asked in a slightly anxious voice. 'From the . . .
the bodies they got hung up.*'
'You mean cut it off the things that wore the meat?~ M'rak
turned a little pale and swallowed.
'That's what we mean,' Debera said. 'If you like, I'll do
v~)ur carving and you can just cut up. Deal?'
'You beL' M'rak agreed fervently. And gulped again, no
longer attacking the rest of the bread that hung limply from
his fingers. He put the slice down. 'I didn't know that was part
of being a dragonrider, too.'
Debera chuckled. 'I think we're all going to find out that

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being a dragonrider is not just sitting on its neck and going
wherever we want to.'

109

A prophecy she was to learn was all too accurate. She didn't
regret making the bargain with the two youngsters - it was a
fair distribution of effort - but it did seem that she spent
her next weeks either butchering or feeding or bathing her
dragonet with no time for anything else but sleeping. She had
dealt with orphaned animals, true, but none the size nor with
the appetite capacity of dragonets. Morath seemed to grow
overnight, as if instantly transferring what she ate to visible
increase - which meant more to scrub, oil AND feed.
'It's worth it, I keep telling myself,' Sarra murmured one
day as she wearily sprawled onto her bed.
'Does it help?' Grasella asked, groaning as she turned on
her side.
'Does it matter?' put in Mesla, kicking her boots off.
'All that oil is softening my hands,' Debera remarked in
pleased surprise, noticing the phenomenon for the first time.
'And matting my hair something wicked,' said Jule, regard-
ing the end of the fuzzy plait she kept her hair in. 'I wonder
when I'll have time to wash it again.'
'If you ask Tisha, she'll give you the most marvellous
massage,' Angie said, stretching on her bed and yawning. 'My
leg's all better.'
She and her Plath had tripped each other up, and she'd
pulled all the muscles in her right leg so badly that at first
they feared she'd broken a bone in the tumble. Plath had been
beside herself with worry until Maranis had pronounced the
damage only a 'bad wrenching'. The other girls had helped
Angie tend Plath.
'All part of being a dragonrider,' T'dam had said, but he
exhibited sympathy in making sure he was at hand to assist
her, too. 'Nothing you won't grin about later.'

Although the room in which Lord Chalkin sat so that the
newly-certified Artist Iantine could paint his portrait of the
Lord Holder was warmer than any other chamber in Bitra
that Iantine had occupied, he sighed softly in weariness. His
hand was cramped and he was very tired, though he was

110

careful not to reveal anything to his odious subject. He also
had to do a bang-up job of this portrait as fast as possible, or
he might not leave this miserable Hold until the spring.
Fortunately this first snow was melting and, if he finished the
painting, he'd leave before the paint was dry. And with the
marks he'd been promised!
Why he had ever thought himself able to handle any
problem that could occur on a commission, he did not know.
Certainly he had been warned: more about not gambling with
any Bitrans, to be sure, had he had any marks to wager. But
the warnings had been too general. Why hadn't Ussie told
him how many other people had been defrauded by the Bitran
Lord Holder? The contract had seemed all right, sounded all

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right and was as near to a total disaster as made no never
mind. Inexperienced and arrogant, that's what he was. Too
self-assured to listen to the wisdom of the years of experience
Master Domaize had tried to get through his thick head.
But Master Domaize had a reputation for letting you
deal with your own mistakes - especially the ones un-
connected with Art.
'Please, Lord Chalkin, would you hold still just a moment
longer? The light is too good to waste,' Iantine said, aware of
the twitching muscles in Chalkin's fat cheeks. The man didn't
have a tic or anything, but he could no more be still in his
fancy chair than his children.
Impishly, Iantine wondered if he could 'paint' a twitch - a
muscle rictus - but it was hard enough to make Chalkin look
good as it was. The man's muddy brown, close-set eyes seemed
to cross towards the bridge of his rather fleshy, bulbous nose.
- which Iantine had deftly refined.
Master Domaize had often told his students that one had
to be discreet in portraying people, but Iantine had argued
the matter: that realism was necessary if the subject wanted a
'true' portrait.
'True portraits are never realistic,' his master had told him
and the other students in the vast barn of a place where classes
were held. 'Save realism for landscapes and historical murals,
not for portraits. No-one wants to see themselves as others

111

see them. The successful portraitist is one who paints with
both tact and sympathy.'
Iantine remembered railing about dishonesty and pander-
ing to egos. Master Domaize had looked over the half-
spectacles he now had to wear if he wanted to see beyond his
nose and smiled that gentle, knowing smile of his.
'Those of us who have learned that the portraitist must also
be the diplomat make a living. Those of us who wish to portray
truth end up in a craft Hall, painting decorative borders.'
When the commission to do miniatures of Lord Chalkin's
young children had been received at Hall Domaize, there had
been no immediate takers.
'What's wrong with it.9' Iantine demanded when the notice
had stayed on the board for three weeks with no-one's initials.
He would shortly sit his final exams at Hall Domaize and had
hopes to pass them creditably.
'Chalkin's what's wrong with it,' Ussie said with a cynical
snort.
'Oh, I know his reputation,' Iantine replied, blithely flicking
a paint-stained hand, 'everyone does. But he sets out the
conditions,' and he tapped the document, 'and they're all the
ones we're supposed to ask for.'
Ussie smothered a derogatory laugh in his hand and eyed
him in the patronizing way that irritated Iantine so. He knew
he was a better draughtsman and colourist than Ussie would
ever be, and yet Ussie always acted so superior. Iantine knew
his general skills were better, and improving, because of
course, in the studio, everyone had a chance to view everyone
else's work. Ussie's anatomical sketches looked as if a mutant
had posed as the life model . . . and his use of colour was
bizarre. Ussie did much better with landscapes and was a

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dab hand at designing heraldry shields and icons and such
peripheral art work.
'Yes, but you'll have to live in Bitra Hold while you're doing
it, and coming into winter is not the time to live there.'
'What? To do four miniatures? How long could it take?'
Iantine had a seven-day in mind. Even for very small and
active children, that should be sufficient.

112

'All right, all right, so you've always managed to get kids
to sit still for you. But these are Chalkin's and if they're
anything like him, you'll have the devil's own time getting
them to behave long enough to get an accurate likeness. Only,
I sincerely doubt that an "accurate" likeness is what is
required. And I know you, Ian...' Ussie waggled a finger at
him, grinning more broadly now. 'You'll never be able to
glamorize the little darlings enough to satisfy doting papa.'
'But...'
'The last time a commission came in from Chalkin,' said
Choreas, joining in the conversation, 'Macartor was there for
nine months before his work was deemed "satisfactory".'
Chomas jabbed his finger at the clause that began 'on the
completion of satisfactory work'. 'He came back a ghost of
himself and poorer than he'd started out.'
'M~cartor?' Iantine knew of the painter, a capable man with
a fine eye for detail, now doing murals for the new Hall at
Nerat Hold. He tried to think of a reason why Macartor had
not been able to deal well with Chalkin. 'Great man for detail,
but not for portraiture,' he said.
Ussie's eyebrows rose high in his long face and his grey
eyes danced with mischief.
'So, take the commission and learn for yourself. I mean,
some of us need some extra marks before Turn's End, but not
so badly as we'd go to Bitra Hold to earn 'era. You know the
reputation there for gambling? They'd sooner stop breathing
than stop gambling.'
'Oh, it can't be half as bad as they say it is,' Iantine replied.
'The sixteen marks, plus keep and travel expenses, is scale.'
Ussie ticked the points off on fingers. 'Travel? Well, you'd
have to pay your own way there...'
'But he specifies travel...' Iantine protested, tapping that
phrase impatiently.
'Hmmm, but you have to pay out for the travel there and
account for every quarter mark you spent. Take you a few
days to sort out right there. Chalkin's so mingy no decent
cook stays with him, ditto for housekeeper, steward and any
other staff, so you may end up having to cook your own meals

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v
s

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ú . . if he doesn't charge you for the fuel to cook with. The
Hold's not got central heating, and you'd want a room fire
this time of the year in that region. Oh, and bring your own
bed-furs, he doesn't supply them to casual workers...'
'Casual? A portraitist from Hall Domaize is not classified
as a casual worker,' Iantine said indignantly.
'At Bitra, my friend, everyone's casual,' Chomas put in.
'Chalkin's never issued a fair service contract in his life. And
read EVERY SINGLE WORD on the page if you are foolish
enough to take the commission. Which, if you had the sense
of little green apples, you won't.' Chomas gave a final decisive
nod of his head and continued on his way to his own work
station, where he was doing fine marquetry on a desk.
However, Iantine had a particular need for the marks the
commission would bring him. With his professional diploma
all but in his hand, he wanted to start repaying what he owed
his parents. His father wanted to avail himself of Iantine's
land allotment to extend his pasturage, but he didn't have the
marks to pay the Council transfer fees: never a huge amount,
but sufficient so that Iantine's large family would have to cut
back on what few luxuries they had to save the sum. It was
therefore a matter of self-esteem and pride for Iantine to earn
the fee.
His parents had given him a good start, more than he
deserved considering how seldom he had been at the hold
since his twelfth birthday. His mother had wished him to be
a teacher, as she had been before her marriage. She had taught
all the basics to him, his nine siblings and the children in the
other nearby Benden mountain sheep and farm holds. And
because he had shown not only a keen interest in learning
but also discernible skill in sketching - filling every inch of a
precious drawing book with studies of every aspect of life on
the hillside hold - it had been decided to send him to the
College. His help would be missed, but his father had
reluctantly agreed that the lad showed more aptitude with pen
and pencil than shepherd crook. His next youngest brother,
who had the temperament for the work, had been ecstatic to
be promoted to Iantine's tasks.

114

Once at the College, his unusual talent and insights were
instantly recognized and encouraged. Master Clisser had
insisted that he do a portfolio of sketches: 'animal, mineral
and floral'. That had been easy to collect since Iantine
constantly sketched and had many vignettes of unsuspecting
classmates: some done at times when he should have been
doing other lessons. One in particular - a favourite with
Master Clisser - was of Bethany playing her guitar, bending
over the instrument for intricate chording. Everyone had
admired it, even Bethany.
His portfolio was submitted to several private craft Halls
which taught a variety of skills, from fine leather tooling to
wood, glass and stone workings. None of those on the West
Coast had places for another student, but the woman who was
master weaver in Southern Boll had said she would contact
Master Domaize in Keroon, one of the foremost portraitists
on Pern, for she felt the boy's talent lay in that direction.
To Iantine's astonishment, a green dragon had arrived one

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morning at the College, available to convey him back for a
formal interview with Domaize himself. Iantine wasn't quite
sure what excited him most: the ride on the dragon between,
the prospect of meeting Master Domaize or the thought of
being able to continue with art as a possible profession. He
had been in a worse state on his return because Master
Domaize, having set him the task of sketching himself, had
accepted him as a student and sent off a message to his parents
that very day, arranging terms.
Iantine's family had been astounded to receive such a
message. Still more astonishing had been the information that
Benden's Lord and Lady Holder were willing to pay more
than half his fees.
Now he must earn as much as he could, as soon as he could,
to show his family that their sacrifices had not been wasted.
Undoubtedly Lord Chalkin would be difficult. Undoubtedly
there would be problems, but the marks promised for the
commission would pay the land transfer fee. So he'd initialled
the contract; a copy was made for Master Domaize's files and
it had been returned to Lord Chalkin.

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Chalkin had demanded, and received, a verification of
Iantine's skill from his Master and then returned the signed
contract.
'Best re-read it, Ian,' Ussie said when Iantine waved the
document about in triumph.
'Why?' Iantine glanced down the page and pointed to the
bottom lines. 'Here's my signature, and Master Domaize's,
alongside Chalkin's. That is, if that's what this scrawl is
supposed to be.' He held it out to Ussie.
'Hmmm, looks all right, though I haven't seen Chalkin's
hand before. My, where did they find this typewriter? Half
the letters don't strike evenly.' Ussie passed the document
back.
'I'11 see if there're any other examples of Lord Chalkin's
signature in the files,' Iantine said, 'though how... and why
ú.. would he deny the contract when he himself proposed it?'
'He's a Bitran, and you know how they are. Are you sure
that's your signature?' Ussie grinned as Iantine peered with
a suspicious glare at his own name. Then Ussie laughed.
'Sure, I'm sure it's mine. Look at the slant of the "t". Just
as I always make it. What are you driving at, Ussie?' Iantine
felt the first twinges of irritation with Ussie's attitude.
'Well, Bitrans are known to forge things. Remember those
bogus land transfer deeds five years ago? No, I don't suppose
you'd have heard about them. You'd've still been a school-
boy.' With an airy wave of his hand, Ussie left a puzzled and
worried Iantine.
When he brought the matter up to his master, Domaize
could produce a sample of Lord Chalkin's signature on a
document much creased and worn. Domaize also put his
glasses up to his eyes and peered at his own name on the
current contract.
'No, this is mine, and I recognize your slanting t-bar.' He
put the document in the 'to-do' tray. 'We'll copy it into our
workbook. If you have any trouble though, at Bitra Hold, let
me know instantly. It's much easier to sort things out when

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they start, you know. And don't,' and here Master Domaize
had waggled a stern finger at him, 'allow them to entice you

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into any games of chance, no matter how clever you think you
are. Bittans make their living at gaming. You can't compete
at their level.'
Iantine had promised faithfully to eschew any gaming. He'd
never had much interest in such things, being far more likely
to sketch the players than join the game. But gambling was
not a 'thing' that the Master would have meant. Iantine
was learning what did fall into that category: especially the
nuances of the word 'satisfaction'. Such a simple word that
can be so misconstrued. As he had done.
He had done not four miniatures, but nearly twenty, using
up all the materials he had brought with him so that he had
had to send for more from Hall Domaize since the wood used
in miniatures had to be specially seasoned or it would warp,
especially in a damp environment like Bitra Hold. He had
done the first four on the canvas he had brought with him for
the job, only to discover - along with a long list of other
objections from Lord Chalkin and his wife, Lady Nadona -
that canvas was not 'satisfactory'.
'If it isn't the best quality,' and she ran one of her almost
dragon-talon nails across one canvas, snagging a thread so
badly the surface was unusable, 'it doesn't last long. Skybroom
wood is what you should be using.'
'Skybroom wood is expensive...'
'You're being very well paid for these miniatures,' she said.
'The least we can expect is the best grade of materials.'
'Skybroom wood was not stipulated in the contract...'
'Did it have to be.9' she demanded haughtily. 'I made sure
that Domaize Hall has the very highest standards.'
'Master Domaize provided me with the best canvas,' and
he pushed his remaining frames out of her reach. 'He said
that is what he always supplies. You should have stipulated
skybroom wood in the contract if that's what you wanted.'
'Of course it would be what I wanted, young man. The very
best is none too good for my children.'
'Is there any available in the Hold?' he asked. At least with
skybroom, you could clean off 'unsatisfactory' work without
the risk of damaging the surface.

117

'Of course.'
That was his first mistake. Nevertheless, at that point he
was still eager to do a proper job to the best of his abilities.
However, what skybroom there was turned out to be sub-
stantial lumber, being cured for furniture, and not thin enough
to be used for miniatures: 'miniatures' which were now twice
the ordinary size.
High on the list of 'unsatisfactory' were the poses of the
children, although these had been suggested by the Lady
Holder herself.
'Chaldon doesn't look at all natural,' Lady Nadona said.
'Not at all. He looks so tense, hunching his shoulders like

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that. Whyever did you not tell him to sit up straight?' Iantine
forbore to mention that he had done so frequently, and within
Lady Nadona's hearing. 'And you've given him such an
odious scowl.'
Which had been Chaldon's 'natural' expression.
'Standing?' he suggested, cringing at the thought of arguing
any of them into standing for the 'sittings'. He'd had enough
trouble getting them to sit. still. They were, as Ussie had
foreseen, not biddable and had such short attention spans that
he could never get them to strike the right pose, or assume
an even halfway cheerful expression.
'And why on earth did you paint on such a small canvas?
I'll need to use a magnifying glass,' Lady Nadona had said,
holding Chaldon's likeness away from her as far as her arm
would reach. Iantine had known enough about his patroness
by then to suppress a remark about her farsightedness.
'This is the customary size for a miniature...'
'So you say,' she replied repressively. 'I want something I
can see when I'm on the other side of the room.'
As she was generally on the 'other side of her room'
whenever her children were in her vicinity, the need was
understandable. They were the messiest pre-adolescents
Iantine had ever encountered: plump, since they were indolent
by nature, dressed in ill-fitting apparel since the Hold's
seamstress was not particularly adept, and constantly eating:
generally something that ran, smeared or left crumbs on their

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chins and tunics. None of them bathed frequently enough and
their hair was long, greasy and roughly cut. Even the two girls
showed no feminine interest in their appearance. One had
hacked her hair off with a knife... except the long tress she
wore down the back, strung with beads and little bells. The
other had thick braids which were rarely redone unless
whatever fastened the end had got lost.
Iantine had struggled with the porcine Chaldon, had
realized that the child could not be depicted 'naturally' and
tried to retain enough resemblance so that others would know
which child had been painted. But his portrait was 'un-
satisfactory'. Only the youngest, a sturdy lad of three who
said nothing beyond 'No' and carried a stuffed toy with him
from which he could not be parted, was deemed marginally
'satisfactory'. Actually the dirty 'bear' was the best part of
Briskin's portrait.
Iantine had tried to romanticize Luccha's unusual hairstyle
and was told that she'd look better with 'proper hair' which
he could certainly add in if he was any good at all. And why
did she have such an awkward expression on her face, when
Luccha had the sweetest smile and such a lovely disposition?
(Especially when she was busy trying to unite the Hold's cats
by tying their tails together, Iantine had added mentally. Bitra
Hold did not have a single unscathed animal, and the spit-boy
said they'd lost seven dogs to 'accidents' that year already.)
Luccha's mouth was set aslant in her face, the thin lips usually
compressed in a sour line. Lonada, the second daughter, had
a pudding face, with small dark holes for eyes, and her father's
nose: bad enough in a male, but fatal for a female.
Iantine had also had to 'buy' a lock from the Hold steward

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to prevent his sleeping-furs from walking out of the narrow
little cubicle in which he was quartered. He knew his packs
had been searched the first day; probably several times by the
variety of smeared fingerprints left on the paint pots. As he
had brought nothing of real value with him - not having many
possessions - he hadn't worried. Holds usually had one
light-fingered person, and the Hold steward usually knew who
it was and retrieved what had gone astray from guests' rooms.

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But when Iantine found his paint pots left open to dry out,
he protested. And 'paid' for a lock. Not that he felt all that
secure, for if there was one key to that lock, there could be
duplicates. But his furs did remain on his bed. And glad he
was to have them, for the thin blanket supplied was holey and
ought to have been torn up for rug lengths long since.
That was the least of his problems at Bitra Hold, however.
Having heard all that was wrong with the next set of minia-
tures he managed to produce, a third larger than the first,
Iantine began to have a somewhat clearer grasp of just how
the parents envisaged their offspring. On his fifth set, he
nearly won the accolade of 'satisfactory'. Nearly...
Then the children, one after another, succumbed to an
infant disease that resulted in such a rash that they could not
possibly 'sit'.
'Well, you'd better do something to earn your keep,'
Chalkin told his contract portraitist when Lady Nadona had
announced the children were isolated.
'The contract says I will have room and board...'
Chalkin held up a thick forefinger, his smile not the least
bit humorous. 'When you are honouring that contract...'
'But the children are sick...'
Chalkin had shrugged. 'That's neither here nor there. You
are unable to honour the specific conditions of the contract.
Therefore you are not entitled to be fed and housed at the
Hold's expense. Of course, I can always deduct your leisure
time from the fee...' The smile deepened vindictively.
'Leisure...' Iantine had been so enraged that the protest
burst from him before he could suppress it. No wonder, he
thought, shaking with the control he had to enforce on himself,
no-one else at Hall Domaize would sign with Bitra.~
'Well,' Chalkin went on, as if he were a reasonable man,
'what else does one call it if you are not engaged in the labours
which you are contracted for?'
Iantine had to wonder if Chalkin knew how necessary it was
for him to earn the exact fee promised. Iantine had held no
conversations with anyone in the Hold; they were so sullen
and uncommunicative a group at their best - which was usually

120

at mealtimes - that he hoped he'd be spared them at their
worst. He had steadfastly refused to 'have a little game' with
cooks or guards, which accounted for a good deal of the general
animosity towards him. So how would anyone know anything
about his personal life or his reasons for working here?
So, instead of already being on his way home with a

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satisfactory contract fulfilled and the marks for the transfer fee
heavy in his pouch, Iantine spent his 'leisure' time touch-
ing up the faces of Chalkin's ancestors in the main Hall murals.
'Good practice for you, I'm sure,' Chalkin had said, all too
amiably, as he made his daily inspection of this project. 'You'll
be better equipped to do satisfactory portraits of this genera-
tion.'
Pig faces, all of them, with the ancestral bulbous nose,
Iantine noticed. Oddly enough, one or two of the ancestresses
had been very pretty girls, far too young and attractive
for the mean-mouthed men they had been contracted to. Too
bad the male genes dominated.
Of course, Iantine had had to make up batches of the special
paints required for mural work, having initially had no
idea that such would be required. He also found his supplies
of the oil paints drastically reduced by the repeated 'un-
satisfactory' portraits. He had the choice of sending back to
Hall Domaize for additional supplies - and paying transport
charges, plus having to wait for them to reach him - or finding
the raw materials and manufacturing the colours himself...
which was the better option.
'How much?' he exclaimed in shock when the head cook
told him what he'd have to pay for the eggs and oil he needed
to mix into his pigments.
'Yiss, an' that doan include cost of hiring the equipment,'
the cook added, sniffing. The man had a perpetually running
nose, sometimes dripping down his upper lip. But not, Iantine
devoutly hoped, into whatever he was in the process of
preparing.
'I have to hire bowls and jars from you?' Iantine wondered
how the cook could have become infected with Chalkin's
greed.

121

'Well, if I ain't using 'em, and you is, you should pay for
the use, seems like.' He sniffed so deeply Iantine wondered
there could be any mucus left in his sinus cavities. 'Shoulda
brought yet stuff with ye if ye'd need it. Lord Holder sees
you usin' things from his kitchen and one of us'11 be paying
for it. Won't be me!' And he sniffed again, shrugging one
dirty white shoulder as emphasis.
'I came with adequate supplies and equipment for the work
I was hired to do,' Iantine said, curbing an intense desire to
shove the man's face in the thin soup he was stirring. 'So?'
Iantine had walked, stiff-legged with fury, out of the kitchen.
He tried to tell himself that he was learning, the very hardest
way, how to deal with the client.
Finding the raw materials for his pigments had proved
nearly as difficult since it was, after all, coming on to deep
winter here in the Bitran hills. He discovered a hefty hunk of
stone with a rounded end that would do as a pestle, and then
a hollowed-out rock that would act as a mortar. He had found
a whole hillside of the sabsab bush whose roots produced a
yellow colour; enough raw cobalt to get blue, and the
pawberry leaves that boiled up one of the finest pure reds -
with neither tint nor tinge of orange or purple. With the
greatest of luck he also came across ochre mud. Rather than
'rent' containers, he used chipped crockery he unearthed from

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the midden heap. He did have to pay the price of best oil for
the substandard stuff which was all the cook would sell him.
And that mark, he was sure, would never be passed on to
Lord Chalkin as fee.
He managed to get enough saucers or mugs -. they used a
very cheap pottery in Bitra Hold - to hold the different
colours he needed. He hadn't quite finished the repair work
when Chaldon recovered sufficiently from the rash to be able
to sit/stand once more.
Chaldon had lost weight during the fever which accom-
panied the emergence of the rash. He was also lethargic and,
as long as Iantine could think up funny stories to tell as he
worked, he stayed reasonably still. Calling himself the worst

122

kind of panderer, Iantine made the boy resemble the best-
looking of the ancestors he'd relimned. The boy was certainly
pleased and ran off to find his mother, shouting that he did
look like Greatgranddaddy, just as she always said he did.
The same ploy did not quite work on Luccha's portrait when
she had recovered. Her skin was sallower, she'd lost hair and
too much weight to improve her undistinguished looks. While
he had aimed for her great-grandmother thrice removed, she
didn't have the right facial structure and even he had to admit
the result was unsatisfactory.
'Her illness,' he'd mumbled when Chalkin and Nadona
recited the long catalogue of dissimilarities between their
daughter and the portrait.
He did better with Lonada and Briskin who, several kilos
lighter, had the look of his great-uncle - pinch-faced, lantern-
jawed and big-eared. Iantine had judiciously reduced the size
of those ears even as he wondered what artist had got away
with such unflattering appendages on great-uncle.
He redid Luccha's after the other two: she'd put on some
weight and her colour was better - not much, but better. And
he set her eyes wider in her face, which improved her no end.
Too bad it couldn't be done to the model. He vaguely
remembered that the First Settlers had been able to remodel
noses and bob ears and stuff like that.
So, grudgingly and after making him touch up each of
the four not-so miniature paintings to the point where he
was ready to break something - their heads for preference -
the Lord and Lady Holder considered the four paintings
satisfactory. The final critique had lasted well into the night,
which was dark and stormy: the winds audible even through
the three-metre-thick cliff walls.
So, as he descended wearily but in great relief to. the lower
floor cubicle, he became aware of the intense chill in this level.
The temperature in the big Hall had been somewhat warmed
by the roaring fires in the four hearths, but there was no
heating down here. In fact, it was so cold that Iantine did no
more than loosen his belt and remove his boots before
crawling on to the hard surface that was supposed to be a

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mattress. It looked and felt like something recycled from

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the ships of the First Crossing. He curled up in the furs,
more grateful than ever that he'd brought his own, and fell
asleep.
Arctic temperatures swirling about his face roused him. His
face was stiff with cold and, despite the warmth of his furs,
when he tried to stretch his body his muscles resisted. He had
a crick in his neck and he wondered if he'd moved at all during
the night. Certainly it was cold enough to have stayed in the
warm of the furs. But he had to relieve himself.
He crammed his feet into boot leather that was rigid with
ice and, wrapping his furs tightly about himself, made his way
down the corridor to the toilet. His breath was a plume of
white, his cheeks and nose stung by the cold. He managed his
business and returned to his room only long enough to throw
on his thickest woollen jumper. With half a mind to throw his
furs around him for added warmth, he ran up the several
flights of stone steps, past walls that dripped with moisture.
He paused at the first window on the upper level: solidly
snowed closed. Then he went up the next short flight and
opened the door into what should have been the relatively
warmer kitchen area.
Had every fire in the place gone out overnight? Had the
spit-boys frozen on their bed-shelf? As he turned his head in
their direction, his glance caught at the window. Snow was
piled up against the first hand's breadth of it. He moved closer
and looked out at the courtyard, but it was all one expanse
of unbroken snow. Indeed, where the courtyard should have
stepped down to the roadway the snow was even, concealing
any depression where the road should have been. No-one
moved outside. Nor were there any tracks in the expanse of
snow-covered court to suggest that anyone had tried to come
in from one of the outer holds.
'Just what I needed,' Iantine said, totally depressed by what
he saw. 'I could be trapped here for weeks!'
Paying for room and board. If only the kids hadn't come
down with measles . . . If only he hadn't already freshened
up the murals . . . How would he survive? Would he have

124

anything left of his original fee - that had seemed so generous
- by the time he could leave this miserable Hold?
Later that morning, when half-frozen people had begun to
cope with the effects of the blizzard, he struck another bargain
with the Holder Lord and Lady: and very carefully did he
word it. Two full-sized portraits, each a square metre on
skybroom wood to be supplied by Lord Chalkin, one of Lady
Nadona and one of Lord Chalkin, head and shoulders in
Gather dress, with all materials and equipment to make
additional pigments supplied by the Hold; maintenance for
himself and quarters on an upper floor, with morning and
evening fuel for a fire on the hearth.
He completed Lady Nadona's portrait without too much
difficulty - she would sit still, loved nothing better than to
have a valid excuse for doing nothing. Half-way through the
sitting, though, she wanted to change her costume, believing
the red did not flatter her complexion as well as the blue.
It didn't, but he talked her out of changing and subtly
altered her naturally florid complexion to a kinder blush, and

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darkened the colour of her pale eyes so that they seemed to
dominate her face. By then, he'd heard enough of the
supposed resemblance between herself and Luccha so that he
improved on it, giving her a more youthful appearance.
When she wanted to change the collar of her dress,
he improvised one he remembered seeing in an Ancient's
portrait - a lacy froth which hid much of the loose skin of her
neck. Not that he had painted that in, but the lace softened
the whole look of her.
He had not been so lucky with Chalkin. The man was
psychologically unable to sit still - tapping his fingers, swing-
ing one leg as he crossed and uncrossed them, twitching his
shoulders or his face, making it basically impossible to obtain
a set pose.
Iantine was nearly desperate now to finish and leave
this dreadful place before another snowstorm. The young
portraitist wondered if Chalkin's delays, and the short periods
in which he would deign to sit, were yet another ploy to delay
him - and rake back some of the original fee. Though Chalkin

125

}

(

had even invited him to come into the gaming rooms - the
warmest and most elegant rooms in the Hold - Iantine had
managed to excuse himself somehow or other.
'Do sit still, Lord Chalkin, I'm working on your eyes and I
cannot if you keep moving them about in your face,' Iantine
said, rather more sharply than he had ever addressed the Lord
Holder before.
'I beg your pardon,' said Chalkin, jerking his shoulders
about angrily.
'Lord Chalkin, unless you wish to be portrayed with your
eyes crossed, sit still for five minutes! I beg of you.'
Something of Iantine's frustration must have come across
because Chalkin not only sat still, he glared at the portraitist.
And for longer than five minutes.
Working as fast as he could, Iantine completed the delicate
work on the eyes. He had subtly widened them in the man's
face and cleared up the oedemic pouches which sagged below
them. He had made the jowly face less porcine and subtracted
sufficient flesh from the bulbous nose to give it a more Roman
look. He had also widened and lifted the shoulders to give a
more athletic appearance, and darkened the hair. Further, he
had meticulously caught the fire of the many jewelled rings.
Actually, they dominated the painting, which he felt would
find fayour with Lord Chalkin who seemed to have more rings
than days of the year.
'There!' he said, putting down his brush and standing
back from the painting, satisfied in himself that he had

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done the best job possible: that is, the best job that would
prove 'satisfactory' and allow him to leave this ghastly Hold.
'It's about time,' Chalkin said, slipping down from the chair
and stamping over to view the result.
Iantine watched his face, seeing that flash of pleasure
before Chalkin's usual glum expression settled back over his
features. Chalkin peered more closely, seeming to count the
brush strokes - although there were none, for Iantine was too
competent a technician to have left any.
'Watch the paint. It's not yet dry,' Iantine said quickly,
raising his arm to ward off Chalkin's touch.

126

'Humph,' Chalkin said, shrugging his shoulders to settle his
heavy jerkin. He affected to be diffident, but the way he kept
looking at his own face told Iantine that the man was finally
pleased.
'Well? Is it satisfactory?' asked Iantine, unable to bear the
suspense any longer.
'Not bad, not bad but...' and Chalkin once again put out
a finger.
'You will not smear the paint, Lord Chalkin,' said Iantine,
fearing just that and then another session to repair the damage.
'You're a rude fellow, painter.'
'My title is artist, Lord Chalkin, and do tell me if this
portrait is satisfactory or not!'
Chalkin gave him a quick nervous glance, one facial muscle
twitching. Even the Lord of Bitra Hold knew when he had
pushed someone too hard. 'It's not bad...'
'Is it satisfactory, Lord Chalkin?' Iantine put all the pent-up
frustration and anxiety into that question.
Chalkin shifted one shoulder, screwed up his face with
indecision and then hastily composed his features in the more
dignified pose of the portrait before him. 'Yes, I believe it is
satisfactory.'
'Then,' and now Iantine took Lord Chalkin by the elbow
and steered him towards the door, 'let us to your office and
complete the contract.' 'Now, see here . . .'
'If it is satisfactory, I have honoured that contract and you
may now settle with me for the miniatures,' Iantine said,
guiding the man down the cold corridor and to his office. He
tapped his foot impatiently as Chalkin took the keys from his
inside pocket and opened the door.
The fire within was so fierce that Iantine felt sweat blossom
on his forehead. At Chalkin's abrupt gesture, he turned
around while the man fiddled with wherever it was he had his
strongbox. He heard, with infinite relief, the turn of the metal
lock and then silence. A slamming of a lid.
'Here you are,' said Chalkin coldly.

127

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•

Iantine counted out the marks, sixteen of them, Farmer-
marks, but good enough since he would be using them in
Benden which didn't mind Farmer-marks. 'The contracts?'
Chalkin glared but he unlocked the drawer and extracted
them, almost flinging them across the desk at Iantine, who
signed his name and turned them back to Chalkin.
'Use mine,' Iantine said when Chalkin made a show of
finding a good pen in the clutter on his desk. Chalkin scrawled his name.
'Date it,' Iantine added, wishing to have no complaint at a
later time.
'You want too much, painter.'
'Artist, Lord Chalkin,' Iantine said with a humourless smile
and turned to leave. At the door he turned again. 'And don't
touch the painting for forty-eight hours. I will not come back
if you smear it. It was satisfactory when we left the room, so
keep it that way.'
Iantine returned to collect his good brushes, but left what
remained of the paints he had had to make. Last night, in a
hopeful mood, he had packed everything else. Now, he took
the stairs up two and three at a time, stored his brushes
carefully, stuffed the signed and dated contracts into his pack,
shrugged into his coat, rolled up his sleeping-furs, looped both
packs in one hand and was half-way down the stairs again
when he met Chalkin ascending.
'You cannot leave now,' Chalkin protested, grabbing his
arm. 'You have to wait until my wife has seen and approved
my portrait.'
'Oh, no, I don't,' said Iantine, wrenching free of the
restraining hand.
He was out of the main door before Chalkin could say
another word, and ran down the roadway between the soiled
snow banks. If he was benighted on the road in the middle
of a snowstorm, he would still be safer than staying one more
hour at Bitra Hold.
Luckily for him, he found shelter during that next storm in
a woodsman's holding some klicks away from the main Hold.

128

Telgar Weyr, Fort Hold

'Guess what I found?' P'tero cried, ushering his guest into
the kitchen cavern. 'Tisha, he's half frozen and starving of the
hunger,' the young green rider added, hauling the tall fur-
wrapped figure towards the nearest hearth and pushing him
into a chair. He deposited the packs he was carrying on to
the table. 'Klah, for the love of little dragons, please...'
Two women came running, one with klah and the other
with a hastily filled bowl of soup. Tisha came striding across
the cavern, demanding to know what the problem was, who
had P'tero rescued and from where.
'No-one should be out in weather like this,' she said as she

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reached the table and grabbed the victim's wrist to get a pulse.
'All but froze, he is.'
Tisha pulled aside the furs wrapped about his neck and
then let him take the cup. He cradled the klah in reddened
fingers, blowing before he took his first cautious sip. He was
also shivering uncontrollably.

129

'I spotted an SOS on the snow - lucky for him that the sun
made shadows or I'd never have seen it,' P'tero was saying,
thoroughly pleased with himself. 'Found him below Bitra
Hold...'
'Poor man,' Tisha interjected.
'Oh, you're so right there,' P'tero said with ironic fervour,
'and he'll never return. Not that he's told me all . . .' and
P'tero flopped to a chair when someone brought him a cup
of klah. 'Got out of Chalkin's clutches intact...' and P'tero
grinned impishly, 'and then survived three nights in a Bitran
woodsman's hold... with only a half cup of old oats to sustain
him . . .'
Through his explanation, Tisha ordered hot water-bottles,
warmed blankets and, taking a good look at the man's fingers,
numbweed and frostbite salve.
'Don't think they're more than cold,' she said, removing
one of his hands from its fevered grip on the hot cup and
spreading the fingers out, lightly pinching the tips. 'No, cold
enough but not harmed.'
'Thank you, thank you,' the man said, returning his fingers
to the warm cup. 'I got so cold stamping out that emergency
code...'
'And out of doors in such weather with no gloves,' Tisha
chided him.
'When I left Domaize Hall for Bitra Hold, it was only
autumn,' he said in a grating voice.
'Autumn?' Tisha echoed, widening her fine eyes in surprise.
'How long were you at Bitra Hold then?'
'Seven damned weeks,' the man replied, spitting out the
words in a disgusted tone of voice. 'I had thought a week at
the most...'
Tisha laughed, her belly heaving under her broad apron.
'What under the stars took you to Bitra in the first place?
Painter, are you?' she added.
'How'd you know?' The man regarded her with surprise.
'Still have paint under your nails...'
Iantine inspected them and his cold-reddened face flushed
a deeper red.

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'I didn't even stop to wash,' he said.
'As well you didn't, considering the price Chalkin charges
for such luxuries as soap,' she said, chuckling again.
The women returned with the things Tisha had ordered.
While they ministered to the warming of him, he clung with
one hand or the other to the klah. And then to the soup cup.
His furs, which had kept him from freezing to death, were
taken to dry at one fire; his boots were removed and his toes

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checked for frostbite but he had been lucky there, too, so they
were coated with salve for good measure and then wrapped
in warm towelling, while warmed blankets were snugged
about his body. Salve was applied to his hands and face and
then he was allowed to finish the hot food.
'Now, your name, and whom shall we contact to say
that you've been found?' Tisha asked when all this had been
done.
'I'm Iantine,' and then he added in wry pride, 'portraitist
from Hall Domaize. I was contracted to do miniatures of
Chalkin's children...'
'Your first mistake,' said Tisha, chuckling.
Iantine flushed. 'You're so right, but I needed the fee.'
'Did you come away with any of it?' P'tero asked, his eyes
gleaming with mischief.
'Oh, that I did,' the artist replied so fiercely that everyone
grinned. Then he sighed. 'But I did have to part with an eighth
at the woodsman's hold. He had little enough to share, but
was willing to do so.'
'At a profit, I'm sure...'
Iantine considered that for a moment. 'I was lucky to find
any place to wait out the storm. And he did share . . .' He
shrugged briefly, and a dejected look crossed his features as
he sighed. 'Anyway, it was he who suggested I make a sign
in the snow to attract any dragonrider. I'm just lucky one saw
me.' He nodded thanks to P'tero.
'No problem,' the blue dragonrider said airily. 'Glad I
came.' He leaned towards Tisha across the table. 'He'd've
been frozen solid in another day!'
'Were you long waiting?'

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'Two days after the storm ended, but I spent the nights with
o1' Fendler. If you're hungry enough, even tunnel snake tastes
good,' Iantine added.
'Ah, the poor laddie,' said Tisha and called out orders for
a double portion of stew to be brought immediately, and bread
and sweetening and some of the fruit that had been sent up
from Ista.
By the time Iantine had finished the meal, he felt he had
made up for the last four days. His feet and hands were
tingling despite the numbweed and salve. When he stood to
go and relieve himself, he wobbled badly and clutched at the
chair for support.
'Have a care, lad, filling the stomach was only half your
problem,' Tisha said, moving to support him with far more
alacrity than her bulk would suggest. She gestured for P'tero
to lend a hand.
'I need to...' Iantine began.
'Ach, it's on the way to the sleeping cavern,' Tisha told him
and drew one of his arms over her shoulder. She was as tall
as he.
P'tero took up the packs again and between them, they got
him to the toilet room. And then into a bed in an empty
cubicle. Tisha checked his feet again, applied another coat of
numbweed and tiptoed out. Iantine only made sure that his
packs - and the precious fee - were in the room with him
before he fell deeply asleep.

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While he slept, messages went out - to Hall Domaize and
to Benden Weyr and Hold, since Iantine nominally looked to
Benden. Although Iantine had taken no lasting harm, M'shall
recognized yet another instance of Chalkin taking unfair
advantage. Irene had already sent in a substantial list of
abuses and irregularities in Chalkin's dealings - generally with
folk who had no recourse against his dictates. He held no
court in which difficulties could be aired, and had no impartial
arbiters to make decisions.
The big traders, who could be counted on for impartial
comment, bypassed Bitra and could cite many examples of
unfair dealings since Chalkin had assumed the Holding fifteen

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years before. The few small traders who ventured in Bitra
rarely returned.
Following that Gather and its decision to consider deposing
Chalkin, M'shall had his sweep riders check in every minor
hold to learn if Chalkin had duly informed his people of the
imminence of Thread. None had, although Lord Chalkin had
increased his tithe on every household. The manner in which
he was conducting this extra tithe suggested that he was
amassing supplies for his own good, not that of the Hold.
Those in more isolated situations would certainly have a hard
time obtaining even basic food supplies. That constituted a
flagrant abuse of his position as Lord Holder.
When Paulin read M'shall's report, he asked if Chalkin's
holders would speak out against him. M'shall had to report
that his initial survey of the minor holders indicated a severe
lack of civic duty. Chalkin had his folk so cowed, none would
accuse him - especially this close to a Pass, for he had still
had the power to turn objectors out of their holds.
'They may change their minds once Thread has started,'
K'vin remarked to Zulaya.
'Too late, I'd say, for any decent preparations to be made.'
K'vin shrugged. 'He's really not our concern - for which I,
for one, am thankful. At least we rescued Iantine.'
Zulaya gave a wry chuckle. 'That poor lad! Starting his
professional career at Bitra? Not the best place.'
'Maybe that's all he could aspire to,' K'vin suggested.
'Not if he's from Hall Domaize,' Zulaya said tartly. 'Wonder
how long it'll take his hands to recover?'
'Thinking of a new portrait?' K'vin asked, amused.
'Well, he's down an eighth of what he needs,' she said.
K'vin gave her a wide-eyed look. 'You wouldn't...'
'Of course ! wouldn't,' she said with an edge to her voice.
'He needs something in his pocket of his own. I admire a lad
who'd endure Bitra for any reason. And Iantine's was an
honourable one in wanting to pay the transfer fee.'
'Wear that red Hatching dress when you sit for him,' K'vin
said. Then he rubbed his chin. 'You know, I might have my
portrait done, too.'

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Zulaya gave him a long look. 'The boy may find it as hard
to leave Telgar Weyr as it was Bitra.'

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'With a much fuller pouch and no maintenance sub-
tracted...'
'And soap and hot water and decent food,' Zulaya said.
'According to Tisha, he'll need feeding up. He's skin and
bones.'
When the singing woke Iantine, he was totally disoriented.
No-one had sung a note at Bitra Hold. And he was warm!
The air was redolent of good eating odours, too. He sat up.
Hands, feet and face were stiff, but the tingling was gone. And
he was exceedingly hungry.
The curtain across the cubicle rustled and a boy's head
popped through.
'You're awake, Artist Iantine?' the lad asked.
'Indeed, I am,' and Iantine looked around for his clothes.
Someone had undressed him and he didn't see his own
clothes.
'I'm to help you if you need it,' the boy said, pushing
half-way through the curtains. 'Tisha laid out clean clothes.'
He wrinkled a snub nose. 'Yours were pretty ripe, she said.'
Iantine chuckled. 'They probably were. I ran out of soap
for washing three weeks ago.'
'You wuz at Bitra. They charge for everything there,' and
the boy threw up both arms in disgust. 'I'm Leopol,' he added.
Then be lifted the soft slippers from the pile on the stool.
'Tisha said you'd better wear these, not your boots. And
you're to use the salve first . . .' He held up the lidded jar.
'Dinner's ready.' Leopol then licked his lips.
'And you must wait your meal until I'm ready, huh?'
Leopol nodded solemnly and then grinned. 'I don't mind.
I'll get more because I waited.'
'Is food in short supply at this Weyr?' Iantine asked jokingly
as he began to dress in the clean gear. Odd how important
simple things, like freshly laundered clothing, assumed the
level of luxury when you've had to do without.
Leopol helped him spread the salve on his feet. They were
still tender to the touch and even the act of applying the salve

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made them suddenly itchy. Fortunately the numbweed, or
whatever it was, reduced that sensation.
When he had relieved himself again and gingerly washed
face and hands, he and Leopol made their way to the Lower
Cavern where the evening meal was in progress.
The lad led him to a side table near the hearth which had
been set for two. Instantly cooks descended with plates
overflowing with food, wine for him and klah for Leopol.
'There now, Artist man,' the cook said, nodding apprecia-
tion as Iantine attacked the roast meat, 'eat first and then the
Weyrleaders would like a few words with you, if you're not
too tired.'
Iantine murmured thanks and understanding and addressed
himself single-mindedly to his food. How long had it been
since he'd eaten a decent meal?
He would have had additional servings of the main course,
but his stomach felt uneasy: too much good food after several
days of semi-fasting, probably. Leopol brought him a large
serving of the sweet course, but he couldn't finish it all because
the back of his throat felt raw and sore. He would have gone

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back to his bed then, but he saw the Weyrleaders advancing
on him. Leopol made a discreet exit, grinning reassurance at
him. Iantine tried to stand in courtesy to his hosts, but he
wobbled on his numbed feet and dropped back into the chair.
'We don't stand much on ceremony here,' Zulaya said,
gesturing for him to stay seated as K'vin pulled out one chair
for her.
He carried the wine-skin from which he filled all the glasses.
Iantine took a polite sip - it was a nice crisp wine - but even
the one sip made his stomach feel sourer.
'Messages have been sent, and acknowledgments received,
that you've been rescued,' K'vin said, grinning over the last
word. 'Master Domaize was becoming worried, so we saved
him a messenger to Bitra.'
'That's very good of you, Zulaya, K'vin,' Iantine said,
thankful that part of his training at Hall Domaize had included
knowing the important names in every Hold, Weyr and Hall.
'I certainly appreciated P'tero's rescue.'

135

Zulaya grinned. 'He'll be dining out on that one for the rest
of the year. But it proves the wisdom of sweep riding even
during the Interval.'
'You should know,' Iantine blurted out, 'that Lord Chalkin
doesn't believe there will be a Pass.'
'Of course not,' K'vin replied easily. 'It doesn't suit him to.
Bridgely and M'shall would like a report from you, though,
concerning your visit there.'
'You mean, there's something that can be done about him?'
Iantine was amazed. Lord Holders were autonomous within
their borders; he hadn't known there'd be any recourse.
'He may do himself in,' Zulaya said with a grim twist of her
lips.
'That would be wonderful,' said Iantine. 'Only,' and now
honesty forced him to admit this, 'he didn't really do anything
to me. '
'Our Weyr artist may not be trained,' K'vin said, 'but Waine
informed me that it doesn't take seven weeks to do four
miniatures...'
'I actually painted twenty-two to get four that they liked,'
Iantine explained, clearing his throat grimly. 'The hooker in
the contract was the word "satisfactory".' 'Ah,' Zulaya and K'vin said in
chorus.
'I ran out of paint and canvas because I brought only what
I thought I'd need...' He lifted his hands, then rubbed them
because they were beginning to itch again. 'Then the children
all got measles and so, rather than have anything deducted
from the fee for room and board, I agreed to freshen up the
Hold murals... only I hadn't brought that sort of paint and
had to manufacture the colours...'
'Did he charge you for the use of the equipment?' Zulaya
asked to Iantine's astonishment.
'How did you know?' When she only laughed and waved
at him to continue his telling, Iantine went on, 'So I excavated
what I needed in the midden...'
'Good for you...' Zulaya clapped her hands, delighted by
his resourcefulness.
'Fortunately, most of the raw materials for pigments are

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136

readily available. You only have to find them and make the
colours up. Which I'd have to do anyhow. Master Domaize
was good about passing on techniques like that.
'Then I finally got them to accept the miniatures, which
weren't exactly miniature size any more, by the way, just
before the first blizzard snowed me in.' Iantine flushed; his
narrative showed him to be such a ninny.
'So? What did you contract for then?' Zulaya shot K'vin a
knowing look.
'I was a bit wiser. Or so I thought,' he said with a grimace
and then told them the clauses he'd insisted on.
'He had you on the drudges' level at BitraT Zulaya was
appalled. 'And you a diploma'd artist? I would protest about
that! There are certain courtesies which most Holds, Halls
and Weyrs accord a student of a craft, and certainly to an
artist!'
ú 'So, when Lord Chalkin finally accepted his portrait, I made
tracks away as fast as I could!'
K'vin clapped him on the shoulder, grinning at the fervour
with which that statement came out.
'Not that my conditions improved that much,' Iantine added
quickly and then grinned, 'until P'tero rescued me.' His throat
kept clogging up and he had to clear it again. 'I want to thank
you very much for that. I hope I didn't keep him from proper
duties.'
'No, no,' K'vin said. 'Mind you, I'm not all that sure why
he was over Bitra, but it's as well he was.'
'How are your hands?' Zulaya asked, looking down at him
as he 'washed' his itching fingers together. 'I shouldn't rub the skin,
should IT
Zulaya spoke over her shoulder. 'Leopol, get the numb-
weed for Iantine, please.'
The young artist hadn't noticed the boy's discreet presence,
but he was glad he didn't have to walk all the way to the
cubicle to get the salve.
'It's just the after-effects of cold,' he said, looking at
his fingers, and noticing what Tisha had - pigment under
the nails. He curled his fingers, ashamed to be at a Weyr

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table with dirty hands. And a deep shiver went down his spine.
'I was wondering, Iantine,' Zulaya began, 'if you'd feel up
to doing another portrait or two? The Weyr pays the usual
rates, and no extras charged against you.'
Iantine protested. 'I'd gladly do your portrait, Weyrwoman.
It is of yourself you were speaking, isn't it?' That first shiver
was followed by another which he did his best to mask.

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'You'll do it only if you are paid a proper fee, young man,'
Zulaya said sternly. 'But...'
'No buts,' K'vin put in. 'What with preparations for a Pass,
neither Zulaya nor I have had the time to commission proper
portraits. However, since you're here... and willing?'
'I'm willing, all right, but you don't know my work and I'm
only just accredited...'
Zulaya caught his hands in hers, for he'd been wildly
gesticulating in both eagerness and an attempt to disguise
another spasm.
'Artist Iantine, if you managed to do four miniatures and
two formal portraits, and refresh murals for Chalkin, you're
more than qualified. Didn't you know that it took Macartor
five months to finish Chalkin's wedding-day scene?'
'And he had to borrow marks from an engineer to pay off
the last of his "debt"?' K'vin added. 'Here's Waine to greet
you. But you're not to start work again until you're completely
recovered from the cold.'
'Oh, I'm recovered, I'm recovered,' Iantine said, standing
up as the Weyrleaders did, determined to control the next set
of shiverings.
After they had introduced him to the little man, Waine,
they left him, circulating to other tables as the Weyr relaxed.
There was singing and guitar playing from one side of the
room, cheerful noises, above a general level of easy con-
versation. That was something else which Iantine only now
realized had been totally absent at Bitra Hold: music, talk,
people relaxing after a day's work.
'Heard you ran afoul a' Chalkin?' Waine said, grinning and
ducking his head. Then he brought from behind his back a

138

sheaf of large-sized paper sheets, neatly tied together, and a
handful of pencils. 'Thought you might need 'em, like,' he
said shyly. 'Heard tell you used up all at Bitra.'
'Thank you,' Iantine replied, running his fingers appre-
ciatively over the fine sheets and noticing that the pencils
were of different weights of carbon. 'How much do I owe
you?'
Waine laughed, showing gaps in his teeth. 'You been at
Bitra too long, Artist man. I've colours, too, but not many.
Don't do more'n basics.'
'Then let me make you a range of paints,' Iantine said
gratefully, gritting his teeth against yet another onslaught of
ague. 'You know where to find the raw stuff around here, and
I'll show you how I make the tints.'
Waine grinned toothlessly again. 'That's a right good trade.'
He held out a hand and nearly crushed Iantine's fingers with
his enthusiasm. But he caught the paroxysm of almost un-
controllable shivering which Iantine could not hide. 'Hey, man, you're cold.'
'I can't seem to stop shivering, for all that I'm on top of the
fire,' and Iantine had to surrender to the shaking.
'TISHA!'
Iantine was embarrassed by Waine's bellow for assistance,
but he didn't resist when he was bundled back into his
quarters and the medic summoned while Tisha ordered more
furs, hot water-bottles, aromatics to be steeped in hot water
to make breathing easier. He made no resistance to the

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medication that was immediately prescribed for him because,
by then, his head had started to ache. So did his bones.
The last thing he remembered before he drifted off to an
uneasy sleep was what Maranis, the medic, said to Tisha.
'Let's hope they all have it at Bitra for giving it to him!'

Much later Leopol told him that Tisha had stayed by his
bedside three nights while he burned of the mountain fever
he had caught, compounding his illness by exposure on the
cold slopes. Maranis felt that the old woodsman might be a

139

carrier for the disease: himself immune, but able to transmit
the fever.
Iantine was amazed to find his mother there when he woke
from the fever. Her eyes were red with crying and she burst
into tears again when she realized he was no longer delirious.
Leopol also told him that Tisha had insisted she be sent for
when his fever lasted so long.
To Iantine's astonishment, his mother didn't seem as
pleased to receive the transfer fee as he was to give it.
'Your life isn't worth the fee,' she told him finally when he
was afraid she was displeased with the missing eighth mark
he'd had to give the woodsman. 'And he nearly killed you for
that eighth.'
'He's a good lad you have for a son,' Tisha said with an
edge to her voice, 'working that hard to earn money from
Chalkin.'
'Oh yes,' his mother hastily agreed as she suddenly realized
she ought to be more grateful. 'Though whyever you sought
to please that old skinflint is beyond me.'
'The fee was right,' Iantine said weakly.
'Don't take on so, now, Ian,' Tisha said when his mother
had to return to the sheephold. 'She was far more worried
about you than about the marks. Which shows her heart's in
the right place. Worry makes people act odd, you know.' She
patted Iantine's shoulder. 'She wanted to take you home and
nurse you there,' she went on reassuringly. 'But couldn't risk
your lungs in the cold of between. I don't think she liked us
taking care of you!' She grinned. 'Mothers never trust others,
you know.'
Iantine managed a grin back at Tisha. 'I guess that's it.'
It was Leopol who restored Iantine's peace of mind.
'You gotta real nice mother, you know,' he said, sitting on
the end of the bed. 'Worried herself sick about leaving until
P'tero promised to convey her again if you took any turn for
the worst. She'd never ridden a dragon before.'
Iantine chuckled. 'No, I don't think she has. Must have
frightened her.'
'Not as much,' and now Leopol cocked a slightly dirty finger

140

at the artist, 'as you being so sick she had to be sent for. But
she was telling P'tero how happy your father would be to have
those marks you earned. Real happy. And she near deafened
P'tero, shouting about how she'd always known you'd be a

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success, and to get the whole fee out of Chalkin was quite an
achievement.'
'She did?' Iantine perked up. His mother had been bragging
about him?
'She did indeed,' Leopol said, giving an emphatic nod to
his head.
Leopol seemed to know a great deal about a lot of matters
in the Weyr. He also never seemed to mind being sent on
errands as Iantine made a slow convalescence.
Master Domaize paid him a visit, too. And it was Leopol
who told the convalescent why the Master had made such a
visit.
'That Lord Chalkin sent a complaint to Master Domaize
that you had skived out of the Hold without any courtesy and
he was seriously considering lodging a demand for the return
of some of the fee since you were so obviously very new at
your art, and the fee had been for a seasoned painter, not a
young upstart.' Leopol grinned at Iantine's furious reaction.
'Oh, don't worry. Your master wasn't born yesterday. M'shall
himself brought him to Bitra Hold, and they said that there
was not a thing wrong with any of the work you'd done for
that Lord Chalkin.' He cocked his head to one side, regarding
Iantine with a calculating look. 'Seems like there's lot of
people wanting to sit their portraits with you. Didja know
that?'
Iantine shook his head, trying to absorb the injustice of
Chalkin's objection. He was speechless with fury. Leopol
grinned again.
'Don't worry, Iantine. Chalkin's the one should worry,
treating you like that. Your Master and the Benden Weyr-
leader gave out to that Lord Holder about it, too. You're
qualified, and entitled to all the courtesies of which you got
none at Bitra Hold. Good thing you didn't get sick until after
Zulaya and K'vin had a chance to hear your side of the story.

141

C
›
t.

Not that anyone would believe Chalkin, no matter what he
says. Did you know that even wherries won't roost in Bitra
Hold?'
Convalescence from the lung infection took time and
Iantine fretted at his weakness.
'I keep falling asleep,' he complained to Tisha one morning
when she arrived with his potion. 'How long do I have to keep
taking this stuff?.'
'Until Maranis hears clear lungs in you,' she said in her
no-nonsense tone. Then she handed him the sketch paper and
pencils that Waine had given him on his first night in the
Weyr. 'Get your hand back in. At least doing what you're
best at can be done sitting still.'

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It was good to have paper and pencil again. It was good to
look about the Lower Caverns and catch poses, especially
when the poser didn't realize he was being sketched. And his
eye had not lost its keenness, and if his fingers cramped now
and then from weakness, strength gradually returned. He
became unaware of the passage of time, nor did he notice
people coming up behind him to see what he was drawing just
then.
Waine arrived with mortar, pestle, oil, eggs and cobalt to
make a good blue. The man had picked up bits of technique
and procedures on his own, but picking things up here and
there was no substitute for the concentrated drill which Iantine
had had: drills that he had once despised but now appreciated
when he could see what resulted from the lack of them.
Winter had set in but on the first day of full sun, Tisha
insisted on wrapping him up in a cocoon of furs to sit out in
the Bowl for the 'good of fresh air'. As it was bath-time
for the dragonets, Iantine was immediately fascinated by their
antics and began to appreciate just how much hard work went
into their nurture. It was also the first chance he'd ever had
of seeing dragonets. He knew the grace and power of the adult
dragons and their awesome appearance. Now he saw the
weyrlings as mischievous - even naughty, as one ducked her

142

rider into the lake - and endlessly inventive. None of this last
Hatching were ready to fly yet, but some of the previous clutch
were beginning to take on adult duties. He had first-hand
observation of their not-so-graceful performances.
The next day he saw P'tero and blue Ormonth in the focus
of some sort of large class. As he wandered over, he saw that
not only the weyrlings from the last three Hatchings were
attending but also all youngsters above the age of twelve.
Ormonth had one wing extended and was gazing at it in an
abstract fashion, as if he'd never seen it before. The expression
was too much for the artist in Iantine and he flipped open his
pad and sketched the scene. P'tero noticed, but the class was
being extremely attentive. What T'dam was saying slowly
reached through Iantine's absorption with line and pose.
'Now, records show us that the worst injuries occur on wing
edges, especially if Thread falls in clumps and the partners
are not sharp enough to avoid 'em. A dragon can fly with one
third of his exterior sail damaged . . .' and T'dam ran his
hand along the edge of Ormonth's wing. 'However,' and
T'dam looked up at Ormonth, 'if you would be good enough
to close your wing slightly, Ormonth,' and the blue did so.
'Thank you . . ? T'dam had to stand slightly on tip-toe to
reach the area of the inner wing. 'Injuries in here are far more
serious as Thread can, depending on the angle of its fall, sear
through the wing and into his body. This,' and he now ducked
under the wing and tapped the side, 'is where the lungs are
and injury here can even be... fatal.. ?
There was a gasp around the semi-circle of his students.
'That's why you have to be sharp every instant you're in
flight. Go between the instant you even suspect you've been
hit...'
'How do we know?' someone asked.
'Ha!' T'dam propped his fists on his thick leather belt and

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paused. 'Dragons are very brave creatures for the most part,
considering what we ask them to do. But,' and he stroked
Ormonth in apology, 'they have exceedingly quick responses
ú .. especially to pain. You'll know!' He paused again. 'Some
of you were here when Missath broke her sail bone, weren't

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you?' and he pointed around the group until he saw several
hands raised. 'Remember how she squealed?'
'Went right through me like a bonecutter,' a big lad said
and shivered convulsively.
'She was squealing the instant she lost her balance and
actually before she snapped the bone. She knew she would
hurt even as she fell. Now, you don't have quite the same
immediacy in Threadfall since you'll be high on adrenalin, but
you'll know. So, this brings up a point that we make constantly
in all training procedures, always, ALWAYS have a point to
go to in your head. During Fall, it had better be the Weyr
since everyone here,' and now the sweep of his hand included
those Iantine recognized as non-riders, 'will be ready to help.
DON'T make the mistake of coming in too low. Going
between will have stopped Thread burrowing further into your
dragon...' A muted chorus of disgust and fearfulness greeted
that concept. '... So you can make as orderly a landing as
injuries permit. What you don't need is a bad landing which
could compound the original Thread score. Start encouraging
your dragon as soon as you know he's been hit. Of course,
you may be hit too, and I appreciate that, but you're riders
and you can certainly control your own pain while seeing to
your dragon's. HE's the important one of you, remember.
Without him you don't function as a rider.
'Now, the drill is,' and once again he swept his glance
around his students, 'slather!' He picked up the wide brush
from the pail at his feet and began to ply it on Ormonth's
wing: water, to judge the way it dripped. The blue regarded
the operation with lightly whirling eyes. 'Slather, slather,
slather,' and T'dam emphasized each repetition with a long
brush stroke. 'You can't put too much numbweed on a
dragon's injuries to suit him or her,' and he grinned at the
female green riders, 'and the injury will be numb in exactly
three seconds... at least the outer area. It does take time to
penetrate through the epidermis to what passes for the
germinative layer in a dragon's hide. So you may have to
convince your dragon that he's not as badly hurt as he or she
feels. Your injured dragon needs all the reassurance you can

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give... No matter how bad you think the injury looks, don't
think that at the dragon. Tell him or her what a great brave

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dragon they are, and that the numbweed is working and the
pain will go away.
'Now, if a bone has been penetrated...'
'Why, you've got P'tero to the life,' said an awed voice softly
in Iantine's ear, and he shot a glance at the tall lad standing
behind him: M'leng, green Sith's rider, and P'tero's special
friend. Iantine had seen the two riders, always together, in
the kitchen cavern. 'Oooh, is there any chance I could have
that corner?' And he tapped the portion which contained
P'tero and Ormonth.
M'leng was a handsome young man, with almond-shaped
green eyes in an angular face. The light breeze in the Bowl
ruffled tight dark brown curls on his head.
'Since I owe P'tero my life, let me make a larger sketch for
you...
'Oh, would you?' And a smile animated M'leng's rather
solemn face. 'Can we settle a price? I've marks enough to do
better than Chalkin did you!' He reached for his belt pouch.
Iantine tried to demur, pleading he owed P'tero.
' 'Tero was only doing his duty for once,' M'leng said with
a touch of asperity. 'But ! really would like a proper portrait
of him. You know, what with Threadfall coming and all, I'd
want to have something...' M'leng broke off, swallowed, and
then reinforced his pleading.
'I've to do a commission for the Weyrleaders...' Iantine
said.
'Is that the only one?' M'leng seemed surprised. 'I'd've
thought everyone in the Weyr would be after you...'
Iantine grinned. 'Tisha hasn't released me from her care
yet.'
'Oh, her,' and M'leng dismissed the headwoman with a
wave of his hand. 'She's so fussy at times. But there's nothing
wrong with your hand or your eye... and that little pose of
P'tero, leaning against Ormonth, why it's him!'
Iantine felt his spirits rise at the compliment because the
sketch of the blue rider was good - better than the false ones

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he had done at Bitra Hold. He still cringed, remembering how
he had allowed himself to compromise his standards by
contriving such obsequious portrayals. He hoped he would
never be in such a position again. M'leng's comment was balm
to his psyche.
'I can do better...'
'But I like the pose. Can't you just do it.* I mean,' and
M'leng looked everywhere but at Iantine, 'I'd rather P'tero
didn't know... I mean...'
'Is it to be a surprise for him?'
'No, it's to be for me!' And M'leng jabbed his breastbone
with his thumb, his manner defiant. 'So I'll have it...'
At such intransigence, Iantine was at a loss and hastily
agreed before M'leng became more emotional. His eyes had
filled and he set his mouth in a stubborn line.
'I will, of course, but a sitting would help...'
'Oh, I can arrange that, so he still doesn't know. You're
always sketching,' and that came out almost as an accusation.
Iantine was - thanks to the lecture he had been overhearing
- considerably more aware now of the dangers dragons, and

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their riders, would shortly face. If M'leng was comforted by
having a portrait of his friend, that was the least Iantine could
do.
'This very night,' M'leng continued, single-minded in his
objective, 'I'll see we sit close to where you usually do. I'll
get him to wear his good tunic so you can paint him at his
very best.'
'But suppose...' Iantine began, wondering how he could
keep P'tero from knowing he was being done.
'You do the portrait,' M'leng said, patting Iantine's arm to
still his objections. 'I'11 take care of P'tero...' and he added
under his breath, 'as long as I have him.'
That little afterthought made the breath stop in Iantine's
throat. Was M'Leng so sure that P'tero would die.*
'I'll do my best, M'leng, you may be sure of that!'
'Oh, I am,' said M'leng, tossing his head up so that the curls
fell back from his face. He gave Iantine a wry smile. 'I've been
watching how you work, you see.' He extended a hand soft

146

with the oils riders used to tend their dragons. Iantine took
it and was astonished at the strength in the green rider's grip.
'Waine said a good miniature - which is what I want,' and he
patted his breast pocket to show the intended site of the
painting, 'by an artist is priced at four marks. Is that correct?'
Iantine nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat.
Surely M'leng was dramatizing matters? Or was he? In the
background, Iantine could hear T'dam advising his listeners
on the types and severity of injuries and the immediate aid
to be given to each variety.
What a bizarre, and cruel, lecture to give to the weyrlings!
And yet - the thought stopped him - was it not kinder to be
truthful now and ease the shock of what could possibly
happen?
'This evening?' M'leng said firmly.
'This very evening, M'leng,' Iantine agreed, nodding his
head.
When the green rider had left him, it took the young artist
some long moments before he could return to his sketching.
Well, this was one thing he could do as a girl to the Weyr
for all their kindnesses to him - he could leave behind a
graphic gallery of everyone currently living in Telgar Weyr!

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v
s
v

Fort Hold

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Classes were also being held that same day in Fort Hold. In
the College assembly room, Corey, as Head Medic, was
conducting a seminar for healers from all over Pern who had
been flown in for a three-day clinic. This included a first-aid
session dealing with both human and dragon injuries. She was
assisted by the Fort Weyr medic, N'ran, who had originally
studied animal medicine before he had inadvertently Im-
pressed brown Galath. Galath, on this occasion, was outside,
enjoying the sun, while a green dragon, who was small enough
to fit in the Hall, was being used for demonstration purposes
much as Ormonth was at Telgar Weyr.
'Now we have been able to duplicate the records of Doctors
Tomlinson, Marchane and Lao which include some fading
photos of actual injuries. Lunch is fortunately sufficiently in
the future,' she said with a quirky smile. Then her expression
turned sober. 'The verbal descriptions are worse, but it's
necessary to impress on all those who have to deal with

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ground injuries how incredibly fast,' she ticked off one finger,
'how horrendous Thread is,' another and then with a sigh,
'and how quickly we must act to...' her pause was longer
now, '... to limit suffering.'
Murmurs answered her and she could see that some of the
audience had paled. Others looked defiant.
'From what I, and my staff,' and she indicated those in
the front seat, 'have determined, there is little option. The
alternative of getting into cold between as the dragons can is
not available to us... Yes?'
'Why not? If that's an alternative...'
'For them, not us,' she said firmly. 'Because all the records
emphasize the speed with which Thread... consumes organic
material. Too swiftly to call a dragon, even if any were
available in your locale. A whole cow goes in less than two
minutes.'
'Why, that's not even time to . . .' a man began and his
voice trailed off.
'Precisely,' Corey agreed. 'If a limb is scored, there's the
chance it could be amputated before the organism spreads
over the body...'
'Shards! You can't just...' another man began.
'If survival means loss of just a limb, it can be done.'
'But only if you're right there...' Corey recognized him
as a practitioner in a large hold in Nerat.
'And many of us will be right there,' Corey said firmly, 'with
the ground crews, sharing their dangers . . . and hopefully
saving as many as we can.' She managed a wry smile. 'Any
body of water handy is useful since Thread drowns. Quickly,
according to reports. Depending on the site of the injury,
water can impede the ingestion long enough for an amputation
to be performed. Even a trough is sufficient.' She glanced
down at her notes. 'Thread needs oxygen as well as organic
material. It drowns in three seconds.' 'What if it's burrowed into flesh?'
'Three seconds. Flesh does not have the free oxygen
necessary for Thread life. Ice, too, can retard progress, but
that isn't always available either.

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›

'Let us assume that we have, somehow, halted the
organism's progress but we have a bad scoring and/or an
amputation. Numbweed, numbweed, numbweed! And bless
this planet for inventing something it didn't know we'd need
so badly. In the case of an amputation, of course, proceed
with standard practices, including cautery. That at least would
eliminate any final vestige of Thread. There will be significant
trauma so fellis is recommended . . . if the patient is still
conscious.'
She glanced down at her notes. 'Tomlinson and Marchane
also indicate that the mortality rate, due to heart failure or
stroke, is high in Thread injuries. Lao, who practised until the
end of the First Pass, notes that often patients who had
received slight scores, successfully treated, died from the
pathological trauma of being scored. In preparing our groups
for this problem, do stress that Threadscore can be success-
fully treated.'
'If we can move fast enough,' a man said facetiously.
'That's why it's important for a medic to accompany as
many ground-crew teams as possible. And why first-aid
procedures must be taught to every Hold and Hall within your
practice. There are only so many of us, but we can teach many
what to do and cut down on fatalities.
'And,' Corey went on, 'we must emphasize that all non-
essential personnel is to STAY safely indoors until ground
crews report the area safe.
'Now, we will go on to dragon injuries since these, too, will
occur and those of us on the spot may need to assist the dragon
and rider. They will have the one advantage we can't provide
- the chance to go between and freeze the attacking organism.
But the score will be just as painful.
'The larger proportion of draconic injuries are to the wing
surfaces . . . if you please, Balzith,' and she turned to the
patient green dragon and she obediently extended her wing
as the medic conducted that section of her lecture.
When they had adjourned for lunch, prior to discussing
other problems - such as hygiene and sanitation within small
and medium holds where the amenities were not as efficient

150

as in the larger population centres - Corey was approached
by Joanson of South Boll and Frenkal of Tillek Hold, both
senior medics.
'Corey, what is your position on... mercy?' asked Joanson
in a very thoughtful tone.
She regarded the tall man for a long moment. 'What it has
always been, Joanson. We have, as you realize, quite a few
persons in this audience who have not received full medical

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training. I cannot ask them to do what I would find very, very
difficult to do: administer mercy.' She gave Joanson a long
stare, then glanced at Frenkal who seemed to enjoy the ethical
spot she was in.
'We are sworn to preserve life. We are also sworn to
maintain a decent quality of life for those under our care.'
She felt her lips twitch, remembering that there were occasions
when those two aims were in conflict. 'We must, each of us,
reflect on how we will face such a desperate situation: whether
to cut short a final agony is necessary, even ethical. I don't
think there will be much time to consider morals, ethics, kind
or cruel, at the time we are forced to take... action.' She
paused, took a deep breath. 'I do remember seeing the tapes
the Infirmary used to have, showing very graphically an
animal being eaten alive by Thread...' She noticed Joanson's
wince. 'Yes, eaten alive because Thread caught the hind end
of it. I think, if it was someone you knew, you'd opt for...
the quickest possible end to that.'
Since they were not the only two who approached her on
that subject, she was almost glad when the lunch break ended
and she could address the less vexious matter of amputation.
Everyone needed a refresher on that procedure, especially
an emergency type of operation when there might not be
time for all the preliminaries that made for a neat stump. She
did have the new bonecutters - well, more axes than the
traditional surgical tool - for distribution afterwards. Kalvi
had brought them with him.
'Best edge we've ever been able to make on a surgical tool,
Corey,' he told her with some pride. 'Had them tested at the
abattoir. Cut through flesh and bone like going through

151

cheese. Gotta keep 'em honed, though. And I've made cases
for the blades so no-one slices off a finger by mistake.'
Surgeons were not the only ones with a ghoulish sense of
humour, Corey decided.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall of Fort Hold, with Lord Paulin
seated in the front row, Kalvi himself was demonstrating
to those who would form the Fort ground crews how to use
and service the HNO3 cylinders, taking his audience from
assembly of the parts and then a quick rundown of common
problems likely to be encountered in the field. Every small
holder within Fort's authority was present; many had brought
their elder children. All had come on foot, their own or on
horseback. Fort Weyr, like the other five, was beginning to
restrict dragon rides. Lord Paulin understood and approved.
'We've had it far too easy, using the dragons the way our
ancestors would have used the sleds and airborne vehicles,'
he was heard to say when one of his holders complained
that he had been denied his right to a dragonride. 'We haven't
been breeding horses just to run races, you know. And the
dragonriders have been far too accommodating. Do us all
good to walk or ride. You have, of course, extended your

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beast holds to shelter all your livestock?'
There had been moaning over that necessity, too, with
complaints that the engineers should really have spent more
time trying to replicate the marvellous rock-cutting equipment
with which their ancestors had wrested living quarters out of
cliff-sides.
Kalvi had come in for considerable harangue over that,
which he shrugged off.
'We have a list of priorities: that's not one. Nor could be.
We still have two sleds in the north, but no power to run 'era.
Never did find out what they used,' he said. 'No way of
duplicating such power packs either, or I'm sure our ancestors
would have. Otherwise why did they engineer the dragons?
Anyway, renewable resources make more sense than erudite
or exotic imports.'

152

When the main lecture was concluded, everyone was told
to reassemble after the noon meal for target practice. This
was vastly more interesting than having to listen to Kalvi
waffle on about how to adjust the wands of the HNO3
throwers to give a long, narrow tongue of fire or a broader,
shorter flame. Or how to clear the nozzle of clogged matter.
'You've got almost as much variation in flame as a dragon
has ...' Kalvi said as he slung the tanks to his back, his voice
slightly muffled by his safety gear. 'You, there, the hard hat
has a purpose. Put it on your head! Lower the face screen?
The offender immediately complied, Kalvi scowling at him.
'The effective range of this equipment is six metres on the
narrowest setting, two on the broader. You wouldn't want it
to get closer to you...' He was fiddling with his wand. 'Damn
thing's stubborn...' He took out a screwdriver and made a
slight adjustment. 'ALWAYS ...' he said loudly and firmly
as he held the wand away from his body, 'keep the nozzle of
the wand pointed away from YOU and anyone in your
immediate vicinity. We're flaming Thread, not folks.
'NEVER... never... engage the flow of the two gases
without looking in what direction the wand is pointing. You
can also burn, scorch, sear things without meaning to. CAN'T
YOU, Laland?' he said, aiming his remark at one of his
students.
The man grinned and shifted his feet nervously, looking
anywhere but at his Master.
'Now, signal the topside crews, will you, Paulin?' said Kalvi,
setting himself firmly on both feet and aiming the wand up.
Paulin waved a red kerchief and suddenly a tangle of
'something' catapulted off the cliff, startling everyone in
the crowd behind Kalvi. Those with wands raised them
defensively and others gasped as the tangle separated into
long silver strands - some fine, some thick and falling at
slightly different rates. As soon as they were within range,
Kalvi activated his flame-thrower.
There was a brief second when the fire seemed to pause on
the ends of the launched strands before the flame raced
along the material and consumed it so that only bits of

153

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smoking char reached the ground... and the rock that had
been tied to the leading edge. There was a roar of approval
and great a~plause.
'Not bad,' Paulin said, grinning as he noted the new
alertness in the crowd.
'Well, we tried for the effect we just delivered,' said Kalvi,
turning off both tanks. 'Used a retardant on the rope, too.
Had plenty of description of how Thread falls, and this is as
near as we can get.
'Now,' and he turned back to his students, 'it's best to get
Thread before it gets to you or to the ground. We know there
are two kinds: first the ones that eat themselves dead - they're
not a problem, even if they are in the majority and messy.
Records tell us that the second kind find something in what
they ingest that allows them to progress to the second step of
their life-cycle; our ancestors never could do much with
investigating this type. They only knew that it existed. We
know it existed, too, because there are areas here in the north
which are still sterile two hundred-odd years since the last
Fall. If this type gets the nourishment it needs, above and
beyond organic materials, then it can propagate, or divide or
whatever it is Thread does. This is what ground crews were
needed for. This is the type we don't want hanging around
and burrowing out of sight. Our ancestors thought Thread
had to have some trace minerals or elements in the dirt but,
as they never figured out what, we're not likely to now.' Kalvi
heaved a sigh of regret. 'So,' and with a wide sweep of his
arm, 'we incinerate all the buggers the dragonriders miss!'
He paused and looked up the cliff-side where the catapult
crews were waiting.
'OK UP THERE?' he yelled, hands bracketing his mouth.
Immediately in response, red flags were waved at intervals
along the cliff.
'All right, in groups of five, range yourself parallel to the
red flags you now see. When we're all in place - and out of
range of anyone's wand,' and Kalvi gave a wry grin, 'I'll give
the signal and we'll see how you manage.'
The results were somewhat erratic: some men seemed to

154

get the hang of their equipment immediately, while others
couldn't even get the right mix on the gases to produce flame.
'Well, it happens,' Kalvi said m patient resignation. Should
make 'em climb the thread back up the cliff...' he added.
'Do 'era good.'
'Take too much time. THROW DOWN THE NETS,' Kalvi
roared and then grinned at Paulin. 'Thought we'd have some
trouble. We'll get our mock threads back up and in use.'
'How much did you bring?'
'Yards,' was all Kalvi said with another grin.
By the time the short winter afternoon was closing into
darkness, all the holders had had a chance to 'sear' thread
despite hiccups and misses. The mock thread supply ran out
before they lost interest in the practice.
'Now I don't want you to overdo it on your own,' Paulin
said to those nearest him as they walked back to the Hold.
The practice area had been some distance up the North Road

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from Fort Hold, where there were neither beasts nor cot-
holds that could be affected. 'HNO3 isn't all that hard to
manufacture, but the equipment is. Don't wear it out before
it's needed.'
During their practice, the main Hall had been rearranged
for the evening meal and the trainees were as hungry as
gatherers.
'Tomorrow we'll clean the gear,' Kalvi announced while
klah was being served, 'and you'll strip down and reassemble
the units so I'm sure you know what you're doing. The man
who does it fastest and best will get Lord Paulin's reward.'
A loud cheer resounded through the Hall.
'Morale's good,' Paulin said to Kalvi who nodded, well
satisfied with the way this first instruction session had gone.
If all of those meetings planned for the Head Engineer at
the other major holds went as smoothly, Kalvi thought he
might even get a chance for a few days off to fish in Istan
waters. In the frantic search during the run-up to the Second
Pass for materials long left in storage, some reels of stout
nylon fishing line had been found. The bar-coding on the
carton had been damaged so there was no way of knowing

155
how long ago the line had been manufactured, but Kalvi was
eager to put it to the test with some of the big 'uns that swam
in the tropical waters. This sort of synthetic material was
extremely durable and would certainly take the weight of
packfish which could sometimes be quite substantial.
A third group made up of teachers - novices and exper-
ienced - were gathered in the College's spacious refectory.
Today this convocation had the happier task, learning and
rehearsing the new Ballads which were to be used in teaching
the young. On the second day the Fort Weyrleader would
instruct the peripatetic teachers on how best to shelter
themselves if they should be caught out during Threadfall.
Clisser had been inundated with complaints that the Weyrs
were restricting rides which had been the accustomed mode
of transport. Not all the teachers were familiar with, nor
competent to ride, the sturdy horses that had been bred for
long-distance and mountain travel. He was going to have to
reassign a lot of his older teachers, yet another headache.
But for this three-day period at least, the emphasis would
be on the music and the new curriculum. Not that he hadn't
had contentious reactions to that. He was beginning to think
that Bethany had had the right of it when she suggested that
they, like the first Settlers, had relied too heavily on easy
access to information. Oddly enough, some of the older
teachers loudly approved the new curriculum.
'High time we brought things up to date, with relevance to
the life we're leading here, not what folks had there,' Layrence
of Tillek said, 'stuff we'll never have, so what's the point of
quizzing them on it?'
'But we have traditions we must uphold,' Sallisha said, her
brow creased in a frown. Which made Clisser realize once
again that her reputation for being a 'right wagon' was not
without merit. 'Traditions which they must understand to
appreciate what we have...'
'Oh, Sallisha,' and Bethany smiled in her soothing way,
'we're incorporating all those traditions in the Ballads but
stressing what they need to understand of the life they have

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here.'

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'But our glorious past...' Sallisha began.
'Is past,' Sheledon said forcefully, scowling right back at
her. 'All past, all gone, and why dwell on contacts our
ancestors severed for their own good reasons?'
'But . . . but . . . they should know . . .' Sallisha began
again.
'If they wish to know more, they can read it...' Sheledon
said, 'for advanced study. Right now, they have to cope with
the problem of Threadfall...'
'And that's far more important than which planets outlasted
the Nathi bombardments and who was World Leader in 2089,'
said Shulse. 'Or how to plot a parabolic course around a
primary.'
Sallisha glared implacably at the maths teacher.
'Of course,' Shulse went on, 'I do approve of mentioning
such history where it pertains to Emily Boll as Governor, or
Paul Benden as Admiral of the Fleet, because they are part
and parcel of Pernese history.'
'But you have to show students the overall picture . . .'
Sallisha was persistence itself.
'And some students will be vitally interested, I'm sure,'
Shulse said, 'but I agree with Clisser that we have to stream-
line the material to be studied to the point where it has
relevance to this world and our civilization.'
'Civilization?' Sallisha said at her most scornful.
'What? You don't call what we've made here "civilized"?'
Sheledon loved to tease the literal-minded Sallisha. 'Not in terms of what
our ancestors had.'
'And all that went with a high-tech society - like pre-
pubescent addicts, city gangs, wild plagues, so much tech fraud
that people were stuffing credits in their mattresses to protect
their income, the...'
'Spare me,' Sallisha said contemptuously, 'and concentrate
on the good that was done...'
Sheledon gave a chuckle. 'D'you know how dangerous it
was to be a teacher on old Earth?' '
'Nonsense, our civilization,' and she emphasized the word,
'revered professors and instructors on every level.'

157 '

'Only after they were allowed class-room discipline ...'
Sheledon began.
'And the use of stunners,' added Shulse.
'That is not a problem on Pern,' Sallisha said loftily.
'And we'll keep it that way,' said Clisser firmly, 'by
adjusting what interests our classes and dispensing with
irrelevancies.'
Sallisha whirled on Clisser. 'What you decide is relevant?'
Clisser pointed to the files along one wall of the library in
which they were talking. 'I sent out questionnaires to every
teacher on the rolls, and to holders, major and minor, asking
for input. I got it, and this curriculum,' he lifted the thick
volume, 'is the result. You've all received copies. And the

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Teaching Ballads will be part of the package you receive
during the conference.'
Sallisha retired with poor grace, sulking as obviously as any
intractable student would. He wondered if she saw the
resemblance in attitude. However, Sallisha was a very good
teacher, able to impart knowledge at the level needed, and
was therefore supervisor of Southeastern Pern. But she had
her little quirks - like everyone else in the world.
Making the children memorize the Teaching Ballads would
improve their retention of words: a skill that Clisser realized
he had lost with his dependence on technology. But then, one
of the reasons the Colonists had come to Pern with its limited
resources was to revert to a society that was not so dependent
on technology. He read accounts of persons who never left
their home place, contacting others only by electronics, living
as eremites. Not so much out of fear of the outside world as
indolence. No-one could be indolent on Pern, Clisser told
himself, and smiled. What a wasted life to remain in one place
all one's days! Well, perhaps here on Pern, events - like
Threadfall - had forced them a little lower on the techno-
logical scale than the Settlers had anticipated, but they had
adapted to Pern and were adapting it to their own use. And
would meet the menace with a fully developed, renewable air
defence force.
He hoped . . . Clisser sucked in his breath in a sort of

158

reverse whistle. Everyone on the planet - with one notable
exception - was girding their loins and securing their premises
against that attack. Preparing was one thing, but enduring
fifty years of an aerial attack was another. Briefly he reviewed
the accounts published by the besieged colonists on Sirius
III and Vega IV when the Nathi started bombarding the
planets. Day after day, according to the history tapes,
the worlds had been shelled with dirty missiles, rendering the
surface uninhabitable. Whole generations had grown up on
colonial planets, living in deep shelters... Clisser smiled to
himself- not much different from the cave holds in which the
Pernese now lived. And indeed those accommodations had
benefited by the Sirian and Vegan experiences - using
the magma core taps to provide heat and solar panels for
power. Humans had survived under far worse conditions than
pertained on this planet. At least on Pern, you knew when
and where Thread would fall and could mount effective
defences. And yet, the scale of Threadfall was awesome and
failure had appalling consequences. Failure usually did.
Therefore, Clisser hoped that the music which had been
composed as psychologically uplifting would have the desired
effect: developing the morale and encouraging the effort.
Briefly he wondered what would have happened on old Earth,
during the National period, if there'd been a common extra-
terrestrial enemy to unite the diverse races.
Jcmmy and Sheledon had certainly written some stirring
music, martial as well as hopeful. Some of the less ambitious
tunes had a tendency to stay in the mind so that you woke up
in the morning whistling one or hearing it in your head: the
mark of a good melody to Clisser's way of thinking. And they
had scored the music for various solo instruments or combi-

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nations of those readily available, so that even inexperienced
players in the most isolated Hold or Hall would be able to
accompany singers.
Jemmy's riddling song was a delight and Clisser hadn't quite
got all the answers yet, but it would prove useful during the
hours of a Fall to distract folk about what was happening

159

P
h

()

outside. Bethany's lament - the first song she had ever
composed - was next on the programme and he settled back
to listen to it.
But his mind, working overtime in anxiety over the success
of his new programme, refused to be caught up in the music.
Among other things, WHAT was he going to do about Bitra
Hold? The last teacher he'd sent there had left, voiding his
contract with Chalkin - not that Clisser blamed Issony when
he'd heard the way the man had been humiliated and
threatened by unruly holder children - but children had to
receive rudimentary education. You couldn't afford to let one
whole province lapse into illiteracy.
To be sure, children learn at different rates; he knew
that, and learning should be made as interesting as possible,
to lay the foundations for further study and for life itself, for
that matter. That was the purpose of education: to develop
the skills required to solve problems. And to utilize the
potential that existed in everyone - even a Bitran, he added
sourly.
Maybe he should reappoint Sallisha to that area? Then he
chuckled. Not much chance of that. She had enough seniority
to refuse point blank.
He made up his mind then, with the lovely phrases
of Bethany's song soothing him, to bring up the problem of
Chalkin, Lord Holder of Bitra, in the next Conclave. Some-
thing had to be done about the man.
During the final evening meal in which all three groups
joined up on the Fort court for a dinner featuring three whole
roasted steers, Clisser heard Chalkin's name come up and
homed in on the group discussing the man.
'That's not all,' M'shall was saying, a deep frown on his
usually amiable face, 'he's put up guards at the borders, and
anyone who wants to leave can take only their clothes with
them. Nothing else, not even the animals which they may have
raised themselves.'
Clisser had not realized that the Benden Weyrleader had
arrived, but his presence was certainly fortuitous.
'You're speaking of Chalkin?' he asked when the others

160

acknowledged his presence and made room for him in their

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drcle.
M'shall gave a scornful laugh. 'Who else would turn folks
out of their holds right now?'
'I've just heard from one of my travelling teachers, Issony,
and he's quit and nothing would persuade him to go back to
Bitra. But even they have to grow up literate.'
'Ha!' M'shall's scoffing was echoed by the others.
'School hours keep Bitrans from other jobs which earn their
Holder more marks. What did he do to Issony?'
'He'll give you chapter and verse if you ask him. In fact, it
would do him good. I understand one of your riders rescued
him.'
'We do a lot of rescue work in Bitra,' M'shall said, not at
all pleased by the necessity. 'But only non-Bitrans,' he added.
'Now, look,' and Bridgely seemed about to explode, 'I will
not succour all his refugees. And I will not lift a hand to help
him when his Hold is overrun by Thread.'
'Ah,' and M'shall raised one finger in a sardonic gesture,
'but you see, he doesn't believe Thread's coming.'
'Wouldn't we feel silly if he was right after all?' said Farley,
one of the other minor Fort holders. 'Oops, wrong thing to
say,' he added when coldly repressive stares rejected his
witticism.
'Chalkin has always been contrary by nature,' Clisser said.
'But never such an outright fool.'
'Well, he's exceeded even "damned fool",' Bridgely
said. 'Is your teacher, Issony, here now? Well, then, bring him
up to Fort. We're about to do something definitive about
Chalkin.'
'Right now?' Clisser couldn't help looking over at the
roasting carcasses and sniffing at the succulent odours they
were producing.
'I expect to eat, too,' said Bridgely, relenting.
'I just finished eating at Benden,' M'shall said, but his nose
was twitching at the aromas. 'Ah, well, we could have a slice
to allow you to enjoy your meal.'
'Timed it just right, didn't you?' Farley said with a grin

161

for their obvious interest in the roasting meats. 'Can some-
thing be done about an irresponsible Lord Holder?'
'Read your copy of the Charter, Farley,' Clisser advised.

'And how long have border guards...' and Paulin paused,
made indignant by such a measure... 'been in place?' He'd
assembled those concerned in his office at the Hold when
they'd finished eating. Issony was on call if his testimony was
required.
'As near as we can figure out, about seven days,' M'shall
said. 'As you know, we've been canvassing all the holds to
see who, if any, of Chalkin's people has been told about the
imminence of Thread.'
'Surely they'd have heard that much at Gathers...' Paulin
began.
'Ha!' Bridgely put in. 'Very few of his folk hear where or
when Gathers are being held, much less attend them.'
'That isn't right,' said Paulin, shaking his head.
'Frankly, Paulin, I'd say his tithing of them is punitive. None

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of them ever seem to have a mark to spend even when they
do bring work to sell at a Benden Gather. Not that they're
encouraged to travel at all.'
'Even to Gathers?' Paulin answered his own query. 'No, he
wouldn't encourage them, would he?'
'Not if he's afraid they'll compare conditions in another
Hold. Also, he doesn't like Bitran marks to go past his
borders.'
'And gets every one those high rollers have when they
attend those friendly little games he runs,' M'shall said.
'I must confess I hadn't known how restrictive he is.' Paulin
spoke in a very thoughtful tone of voice.
'Well, how would you?' Bridgely replied, absolving
him. 'You're west coast. We know because we see so few
Bitrans at east coast gathers. Oh, his gamesters attend every
one...'
'Hmm, yes, they're ubiquitous, you might say,' Paulin
murmured under his breath. 'So, if he's had to close the

162

borders, it would appear that some holders panicked when
they learned Threadfall is indeed expected?'
'Indeed,' Bridgely agreed with a grim expression, 'and when
a delegation got the nerve to approach him, he had them
beaten out of the Hold. ! saw the lash marks so I know they
aren't lying. They said they'd never seen him in such a temper.
He announced that the dragonriders are trying to get extra
tithing on false pretences by spreading such rumours. He was
also quite damning about the new mine being opened above
Ruatha when good Bittans could have worked the Steng
Valley ones.'
'The world is against Bitrans?' Paulin asked in a droll tone.
'You got it,' M'shall agreed.
'Chalkin also refused to accept delivery of HNO3 tanks...'
said Kalvi.
'Wouldn't pay for them, you mean,' M'shall said. 'That's
what Telgat riders told mine.'
'Either way, there'll be no ground crews. I think he's gone
far enough to warrant impeachment,' Paulin said with slow
deliberation. 'As a Lord Holder, it's his duty to inform, and
prepare his folk, for Threadfall. That's why the Holder system
was adopted: to give people a strong leader to supply direction
during a Fall and to provide emergency assistance. By closing
his borders, he's also abrogated one of the basic tenets
vouchsafed in the Charter: freedom of movement. He's turned
autonomy into despotism. I'll send all Lord Holders and
Professional Heads particulars . . . Oh,' and he glanced at
Clisser in dismay, 'we can't make quick copies any more, can
we.'?'
'One dragonrider could contact all the other Lord Holders,'
M'shall suggested. 'Or one messenger on this coast and
another on ours. That makes only two copies needed.'
'I'11 request a rider from S'nan,' said Paulin, reaching for a
pad.
'That'll please S'nan no end,' M'shall said. 'He's not been
the least bit pleased with Chalkin's defiance. Simply isn't
done, you know,' and M'shall grinned as he mimicked S'nan's
rather prim tones.

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163

'We must take action against Chalkin now,' Paulin stated,
'rather than leave it until the next formal Conclave at Turn's
End. Time's running out.' Then he turned to Clisser. 'Which
reminds me, Clisser, any luck on finding some method of
irrefutably determining the return of Thread?'
Clisser jerked himself into alertness. 'We've several possi-
bilities,' he replied, trying to sound more positive than he was.
'What with the loss of computer access, it's taking longer to
sir through ways and means.'
'Well, keep at it . . .' and then Paulin touched Clisser's
shoulder and smiled, 'along with everything else you're doing.
By the way, the teaching songs are very good indeed.' Then
he put a finger in his ear, drilling it briefly as he grinned more
broadly. 'The kids sing 'era all the time, not just in class.'
'That's what we intended,' Clisser said with droll satisfac-
tion. 'Shall I wait for your message.9'
'No need for that, my friend, but thanks for offering. This
I will take pleasure in penning.' And Fort's Lord Holder
grinned. 'And I'll remember to keep a copy for the Archives.
By the way, wasn't there some ancient way of making copies
ú.. something that would transfer the writing to the next page
under?'
Clisser bowed his head briefly in thought. 'Carbon copying,
I think you mean. We don't have it, but Lady Salda might
have some ideas. We've got to figure a way to make multiple
copies or else spend hours copying.' He gave a heavy sigh of
regret.
'I'll leave it to you then, Clisser,' said Paulin. 'Thank you
all. Now get out here, the lot of you,' and he grinned at the
Benden leaders and Kalvi, 'and enjoy the rest of the evening
while I get on with this task. Not that I won't enjoy it in some
respects,' he added, picking up his pen and examining the tip.
At that polite dismissal, they all filed out of the office.
Clisser thought that Issony looked disappointed at not
being able to recite his catalogue of complaints against Lord
Chalkin; so he made sure that Issony had as much of the good
wine as he wanted.

164

Telgar Weyr

Iantine asked to be allowed out again on the next sunny day,
so he was in the Bowl when the travelling traders arrived.
The entire complement of the caverns flocked out to greet
them. Iantine furiously sketched the various scenes around
him: the big dusty carts with their multiple teams of the
heavy-duty ox-types which had been bred for such work. They
had been one of the last bio-engineering feats from Wind
Blossom, whose grandmother had done such notable work
creating the dragons of Pern.
Iantine had seen traders come and go on their routes
since childhood, and fondly remembered the stellar occasions
when the Benden trading group had arrived at their rather

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remote sheephold. More specifically, he recalled the taste of
the boiled sweets, flavoured by the fruits which grew so
abundantly in Nerat, which the traders passed out by the
handful. Once, there'd been fresh citrus, a treat of un-
surpassed delight to himself and his siblings.

165
For a remote holding, having travellers drop by was almost
as good as a Gather. To Iantine's surprise, weyrfolk were
equally delighted. Despite the fact that they could usually
find a dragon to convey them wherever they wanted to go,
the arrival of the traders was even better than tithe trains.
(The tithe wagons were a different matter, since everyone had
to pitch in to store the produce given to the support of the
Weyr.) And traders brought the news of all the Holds and
Halls along the way. There were as many clusters of folks just
talking, Iantine noticed, as examining goods in the stalls the
Liliencamps set up. Tables and chairs were brought out from
the Lower Cavern; klah and the day's fresh bread and rolls
were being served.
Leopol, always on hand for Iantine, brought over a mid-
morning snack and hunkered down to give the artist the latest
news.
'They've been setting up sheltered halts,' he said between
bits of his own sweet roll, 'along the road to here. They won't
stop doing their routes just because Thread's coming. But they
gotta prepare for it. Half of what they got on those big wagons
right now is materials for safe havens. Course, they can use
what caves there are, but no more camping out in the open.
That's going to cramp their style,' and he grinned broadly.
'But if ya gotta, ya gotta. See,' and one jam-stained finger
pointed to a group of men and women seated with the two
Weyrleaders. They were all hunched over maps spread out
on the table. 'They're checking the sites over so's everyone
here'11 know where they might be if they're caught out in a
Fall.'
'Who trades through Bitra?' Iantine asked with consider-
able irony.
Leopol snorted. 'No-one in their right mind! 'Specially now.
Didja hear that Chalkin's closed his borders to keep his own
people in? Didja know that Chalkin doesn't believe Thread's
coming?' The boy's eyes widened in horrified dismay at such
irreverence. 'And he never told his holders it is?'
'Actually I got that distinct impression while I was there,'
Iantine said, 'more from what wasn't said and done than what

166

was. I mean, even Hall Domaize was stocking food and
supplies against Threadfall. They'd talk enough about odds
and wagers at Bitra, but not a word about Thread.'
'Did they sucker you into any gaming?' Leopol's avid
expression suggested he yearned for a positive answer.
Iantine shook his head and grinned at his eager listener.
'In the first place, I'd been warned. Isn't everyone warned
about Bitrans at Gathers? And then, I didn't have any spare
marks to wager.'
'Otherwise you'd have lost your commission fer fair,'
Leopol murmured, his eyes still round with his unvoiced

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speculations of the disaster Iantine had avoided.
'I'd say Chalkin's gambling in the wrong game if he thinks
ignoring Thread will make it not happen,' Iantine said.
'Shelters are going to have to be huge,' he added, gesturing
towards the solid beasts who were being led to the lake to
drink.
Either they were accustomed to dragonets from coming
to Telgar Weyr, or they were so phlegmatic they didn't care.
However, the weyrlings had never seen them before in their
short lives, so they reacted with alarm at the massive cart
beasts, squealing with such fright that dragons, sleeping in the
pale wintry sun on their weyr ledges, woke up to see what
the fuss was about. Iantine grinned. He did a rap~id sketch of
that in a corner of the page. At the rate he was going, he'd
use up even this generous supply of paper.
'Well, they've had to use a lot of sheet roofing, I know,'
Leopol said. 'The Weyr contributes, too, ya know, since the
Liliencamps have to detour to get up to us.'
Iantine had never given any thought to the support system
required to serve a Weyr and its dragons. He had always
assumed that dragons and riders took care of themselves from
tithings, but he was acquiring a great respect for the organiza-
tion and management of such a facility. In a direct contrast
with what he had seen at Bitra, everybody in the Weyr worked
cheerfully at any task set them and took great pride in being
part of it. Everyone helped everyone else; everyone seemed
happy.

167

To be sure, Iantine had recently realized that his early
childhood had been relatively carefree and happy. His learn-
ing years at the College had also been good as well as
productive; his apprenticeship to Hall Domaize had pro-
ceeded with only occasional ups and downs as he struggled
to perfect new techniques and a full understanding of Art.
Bitra Hold had been an eye-opener. So, of course, was the
Weyr, but in a far more positive manner. Grimly, Iantine
realized that one had to know the bad to properly appreciate
the good. He smiled wryly to himself while his right hand now
rapidly completed the sketch of the Weyrleaders in earnest
collaboration with the Liliencamp trail bosses.
That Bloodline had been the first of the peripatetic traders,
bringing goods and delivering less urgent messages on their
way from one isolated hold to another. A Liliencamp had
been one of the more prominent First Settlers. Iantine thought
he'd been portrayed in the great Mural in Fort Hold, with the
other Charterers: a smallish man with black hair, depicted
with sharp eyes and a pad of some sort depending from his
belt, and - Iantine had of course noted them - several writing
implements stuffed in his chest pocket, and one behind his
ear. It had seemed such a logical place to store a pencil that
Iantine had taken to the habit himself.
He peered more closely at the trail bosses. Yes, one of them
had what looked like a pencil perched behind one ear - and
he also had an empty pouch at his belt: one that probably
accommodated the pad on the table before him.
But, even with such wayside precautions, would such traders
be able to continue throughout the fifty dangerous years of a

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Pass? It was one thing to plan and quite another, as Iantine
had only just discovered, to put plans into operation. Still,
considerable hardship would result in transporting items from
Hall to Hold to Weyr during Threadfall, especially since
dragons would be wholly involved in protecting the land from
Thread. They could not be asked to perform trivial duties.
After all, dragons were not a transportation facility; they had
been bio-engineered as a defensive force, and conveying
people and goods was only an Interval occupation.

168

He wondered if the traders had any paper in their great
wagons. Not that he had even a quarter mark left in his pouch,
but maybe they'd take a sketch or two in trade.
As quickly as he neatly could, he filled his last empty page
with a montage: the train entering the Weyr Bowl, people
rushing out to meet it, the goods being exhibited, deals being
made, with the central portion the scene of the trail bosses
discussing shelters with the Weyrleaders. He held the pad at
arm's length and regarded it critically.
'That's marvellous,' a voice said behind him, and he twisted
about in surprise. 'Why, you did it in a flash!'
The green rider, her dragonet lounging beside her, smiled
self-consciously, her green eyes shining with something akin
to awe. Leopol had pointed this new rider out to him the other
day and related the circumstances of her precipitous arrival
at the Hatching.
'Debera?' he asked, remembering the name. She gasped,
slightly recoiling from him in her startlement. Her dragon
came immediately alert, eyes twirling faster with alarm. 'Oh,
say, I didn't mean to...'
'Easy, Morath, he means me no harm,' she said to the
dragon and then smiled reassuringly up at him. 'I was just
surprised you'd know my name...'
'Leopol,' and Iantine pointed his pencil to where the boy
stood in earnest bargaining with a trader lad about the same
age, 'used to tell me everything that happened in the Weyr
while I was recovering.'
'Oh, yes,' and the girl seemed to relax and even managed
a wider smile, 'I know him. He's into everything. But kind-
hearted,' she added hastily, glancing up at Iantine. 'You've
had some adventures, too, or so Leopol told me.' Then she
indicated his sketch. 'You did that so well and so quickly.
Why, you can almost hear them bargaining,' she added,
pointing to the trader with his mouth open.
Iantine regarded it critically. 'Well, speed is not necess-
arily a good thing if you want to do good work.' He deftly
added a fold to the head trader's tunic, where he now saw
there was a bulge over the belt. 'Let's see if the subject likes

169

it.' He was amazed to hear the edge in his volv, ..... ,~
warily up at him.
'If that's what you can do quickly,' she said reassur-
ingly. 'I'd like to see what you do when you take your
time.'

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He couldn't resist and flipped over pages to where he had
made a sketch of her oiling Morath.
'Oh, and I didn't see you doing this...' She reached out
to touch it, but he was flipping to the page where he had
sketched her and Morath listening to T'dam at the lecture.
She'd had one arm draped over her dragon's neck and he
thought he had captured the subtle bond that had prompted
the embrace.
'Oh, that's marvellous,' and Iantine was amazed to see tears
in her eyes. In a spontaneous gesture, she clung to his arm,
feasting her eyes on the drawing and preventing him from
turning the page over. 'Oh, how I'd...' 'You like it?'
'Oh, I do,' and she snatched her hands away from his arm
and clasped them behind her back, blushing deeply. 'I do ...'
and bit her lip, swaying nervously. 'What's the matter?'
She gave an embarrassed laugh. 'I haven't so much as the
shaving of a mark...'
He tore the sketch out of the pad and handed it to her.
'Oh, I couldn't . . . I couldn't,' and she stepped back,
although the look in her eyes told Iantine how much she
wanted it.
'Why not?' He pressed the paper against her, pushing it at
her when she continued to resist. 'Please, Debera? I've had
to get my hand back in after my fingers freezing, and it's only
a sketch.'
She glanced up at him, nervously and with some other fear
lurking in the shadows of her lovely green eyes.
'You should have it, you know, to remind you of Morath
at this age.'
One hand crept from behind her back and reached for the
sheet. 'You're very good, Iantine,' she murmured and held

170

the sketch by fingertips as if she was afraid she'd soil it. 'But
I've nothing to pay...'
'Yes, you have,' he said quickly with sudden inspiration and
gestured towards the traders still in their group about the
table. 'You can be a satisfied customer and help me wheedle
anotl,.er pad out of the traders in return for this drawing of
them.'
'Oh, but...' She had shot a quick, frightened glance at the
traders and then, in as rapid a change of mood, gave herself
a shake, her free hand going to her dragon's head as if seeking
reassurance. The dragonet turned adoring eyes to her and
Debera's eyes briefly unfocused, the way Iantine had noticed
in riders who paused to talk to their dragons. She let out
a breath and faced him resolutely. 'I would be glad to say a
good word for you with Master Jol. He's by way of being
a cousin of my mother's.'
'Is he now.9' Iantine said with fervour. 'Then let us see if
kinship is useful in trading.'
'I can't, of course, promise anything,' she said candidly as
they moved towards the group. She found it hard to keep the
sketch from fluttering. 'Oh dear.'
'Roll it up,' he suggested. 'Shall I do it for you?' he added.
'No, thank you, I can manage.' And she did, making a much
tighter job of it than he would have done.
The conference was ending as they approached and the

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participants began to separate.
'Master Jol?' Debera said, her voice cracking slightly and
not reaching very far. 'Master Jol,' she repeated, projecting a
firmer tone. Iantine wondered if she was afraid the trader
wouldn't recognize her at all.
'Is that Debera.9' the trader said, peering at her as if he
didn't believe his eyes. Then a broad smile of recollection
covered his face and he strode rapidly across the distance
between them, hands extended. Debera seemed to shy from
such a warm welcome. 'My dear, I'd heard that you'd
Impressed a dragon.'
Iantine put a reassuring hand at her waist and gave her an
imperceptible forward push.

171

'Yes, this is Morath,' and suddenly her manner became sure
and proud. Dragon and rider exchanged one of those melting
looks that Iantine found incredibly touching.
'Well, well, my greetings to you, young Morath,' he said,
bowing formally to the dragonet, whose eyes began to whirl
faster.
Debera gave her a reassuring little pat. 'Master Jol is my
mother's cousin,' she explained to Morath.
'Which makes me yours as well, my lass,' Jol reminded her.
'And very proud to have dragonrider kin. Ah, you're so like
your mother. Did you know that?'
Iantine watched as Debera's expression turned sad.
'Ah, now, I didn't mean to grieve you, child,' Jol said with
instant dismay. 'And how happy she would be to see you...'
he paused and cleared his throat so that Iantine knew the
trader was hastily amending what he had started to say, 'here,
a dragonrider...'
'And out of my father's control,' Debera finished with droll
bitterness. 'Had you heard that too, Master Jol?'
'Oh, indeed,' Master Jol said, grinning even more broadly,
his eyes twinkling with a slight hint of malice. 'I was right
pleased to hear that, indeed and I was. Now, what can I do
for you? Some Gather clothes, good lined boots . . . you'll
have come with little if I know your father.'
Such plain speaking momentarily made Debera uneasy, but
her dragonet crowded reassuringly against her.
'The Weyr has furnished me with everything I need, Master
Jol...' she replied with quiet dignity.
'Master? Am I not cousin to you, young woman?' Jol asked
with mock severity.
Now her smile returned. 'Cousin, but I thank you, though
I do have a favour to ask.. ? 'And what might that be?'
Debera flipped open her sketch and showed it to the trader.
'Iantine here did this of me, and he has one of you...' On
cue, Iantine offered his sketch pad, open to the montage.
'Only Iantine's used up his pad and, like me, hasn't a sliver
to spend.'

172

Master Jol reached for the pad, his manner altering instantly
to a trader's critical appraisal. But he had only cast an eye

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over the sketch when he paused, peering more closely at the
artist.
'Iantine, you said?' And when both Debera and Iantine
nodded, his smile quirked the line of his generous mouth. 'I
place the name now. You're the lad who managed to escape
unscathed from Chalkin's clutches.' Jol offered his free hand
to Iantine. 'Well done, lad! I'd had wind of your adventure.'
He winked, his expression approving. 'But then we traders
hear everything and learn to sift the fine thread of truth from
the chaff of gossip.'
Then he turned back to the sketch, examining it carefully,
nodding his head as his eyes went from one panel to the next.
He gave an amused sniff as he took a longer look at himself,
pencil cocked behind his ear.
'You've got me to the life, pencil and all,' and he touched
the tool to be sure it was in place. 'May I?' he asked
courteously, indicating a desire to look at the other pages.
'Certainly,' said Iantine, making a polite bow. He could
have kicked himself when he swayed a bit on his feet.
'Here now, lad, I know you're not long recovered from your
ordeal,' Jol said, quickly supporting him. 'Let's just take a seat
so I can have a good look at everything this pad seems to
have on offer.'
Ignoring Iantine's protests, Jol led him to the table he had
just left and pushed him onto a stool. Debera and Morath
followed, Debera looking very pleased with this consider-
ation.
And Jol went through the pad as thoroughly as Master
Domaize would have done, making comments about those
Weyr folk he knew, smiling and nodding a good deal. He also
knew when Iantine had left a pose unfinished.
'Now, what is it you require, Artist Iantine?'
'More paper, mainly,' Iantine said in a tentative tone.
Jol nodded. 'I believe I do have a pad of this quality paper,
but smaller. I bring some in for Waine from time to time. I
can, of course, get larger sheets...'

173

•

'It's not as if I'll be staying around the Weyr until your next
round...'
Master Jol dismissed that consideration. 'I've stores at
Telgar Hold and can forward what you need in a day or two.'
He gave Iantine a thoughtful glance. 'You'll not be leaving
here all that soon, I'd say.' He took the pencil from behind
his ear with one hand and the pad from its pouch at his belt
with the other. 'Now, what exactly are your requirements,
Artist Iantine?' 'Ah...'
'He wants to make sketches of every rider and dragon in
the Weyr,' said Leopol, who had eased himself unnoticed
close enough to hear what was being said.

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'So you've many commissions already, have you*.' Master
Jol asked approvingly, pencil poised over the fresh leaf of his
pad.
'Well, no, not exactly, you see,' Iantine stammered.
'You've three I know of,' said Leopol. 'P'tero for M'leng
ú.. And the Weyrleaders...'
Iantine almost bit Leopol's nose off. 'The Weyrleaders're
different. I will do them in oils, but the sketches are to thank
those in the Weyr who've been so kind to me.'
'Doing portraits of an entire Weyr is quite an undertaking,'
and Master Jol scribbled a line. 'You'll need a good deal of
paper and plenty of pencils. Or would you prefer ink*. I stock
a very good quality. Guaranteed not to fade or blot.' He
looked at Iantine expectantly.
'But I've only this sketch to trade with you,' Iantine said.
'Lad, you've credit with Jol Liliencamp Traders,' Jol told
him gently, touching his pencil to Iantine's shoulder and giving
it a little push. 'I'm not Chalkin, mind you. Not any way, shape
or form.' And he gave a burst of such infectious laughter that
Iantine grinned in spite of himself. 'Now, give me your
requirements straight. But to ease your mind, if you'd finish
off this,' and the pencil end tapped the montage, 'in water
colour, I'm ready to give you two marks for it. Oh, and I'd
like this one of T'dam giving his lecture...' he added, flipping
to that page. 'That'll show some folks that dragonriders do

174

something beyond glide about the skies. A mark and a half
for that...'
'But... but...' Iantine floundered, trying to organize his
thoughts as well as his needs. Debera was grinning from ear
to ear and so was her dragon. 'I've no water colours with me
...' he began, wishing to indicate his willingness to finish the
montage.
'Ah, but I just happen to have some, which is why I
suggested them,' said Jol beaming again. 'Really, this meeting
is most serendipitous,' he added, and his smile included
Debera. 'And this,' he touched the montage again in a very
proprietary fashion, 'coloured up a bit and with glass to
protect it, will look very good indeed in my wagon office.
Indeed it will. Advertising, I believe the ancestors called it.'
'Ah, Master Jol?' called someone from one of the trade
wagons. 'A moment of your time...'
'I'll be back, lad, just you stay there. You, too, Debera. I've
not finished with the pair of you yet, so I haven't.'
As Iantine and Debera exchanged stunned looks, he trotted
off to see what was required of him, tucking the pencil behind
his ear again and folding up his pad as he went.
'I don't believe him,' Iantine said, shaking his head, feeling
weak and breathless.
'Are you all right?' Debera asked, leaning across the table
to him.
'Gob-smacked,' Iantine told her, remembering a favourite
expression of his father's. 'Completely gob-smacked!'
Debera grinned knowingly. 'I think I am, too. I never
expected...'
~Neither did I!'
'Why? Don't you trust traders?' Leopol asked, sounding

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slightly defensive.
Iantine gave a shaky laugh. 'One can trust traders. It's just
I never expected such generosity...'
'How long were you in Bitra?' Debera asked tartly, giving
him a long look.
'Long enough,' Iantine said, grimacing, 'to learn new
meanings to the word "satisfactory".'

175

tl-
p~
hi

()
ww

Debera gave him a little frown.
'Never mind,' he said, shaking his head and patting her
hand. 'And thank you very much for introducing me to your
cousin.'
'Once he saw that sketch, you really didn't need me,' she
remarked, almost shyly.
'I believe you ordered these,' said a baritone voice. Rider
and artist looked up in astonishment as a trader deposited an
armful of items on the table: two pads, one larger than the
other, a neat square box which held a full glass bottle of
ink, a sheaf of pens and a parcel of pencils. 'Special delivery.'
With a grin, he pivoted and went back the way he had come.
'Master Jol does pride himself on his quick service,' Leopol
said with a wide grin.
'There now! You're all set,' said Debera.
'I am indeed,' and the words came out of Iantine like a
prayer.

P
P

176

Fort Hold and Bitran Borders - Early Winter

Lord Paulin's message to the other Lords Holder and Weyr-
leaders received a mixed reception: not everyone was in
fayour of impeachment, despite the evidence presented.
Paulin was both annoyed and frustrated, having hoped for a
unanimous decision so that Chalkin could be removed before
his Hold was totally demoralized.
Jamson and Azury felt that the matter could wait until the

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Turn's End Council meeting: Jamson was known to be
conservative, but Paulin was surprised by Azury's reser-
vations. Those who lived in tropical zones rarely understood
the problems of winter weather. To be sure, it would be more
difficult to prepare Bitra Hold in full winter, which was
Azury's stated concern, but some progress could be made to
prepare the Hold for the vernal onslaught of Threadfall.
Preparations ought to have begun - as in every other Hold -
two years ago: larger crops sowed, harvests stored and general
maintenance done on buildings and arable lands, as well as

177

the construction of emergency shelters on the main roads and
for ground crews. Not to mention training holders how to
combat Thread burrows.
There was the added disadvantage that Chalkin's folk
seemed generally dispirited anyhow - though that should not
be used as an excuse for denying them news of the impending
problem.
And who would succeed to the Hold? A consideration that
was certainly fraught with problems.
In his response, Bastom had made a good suggestion: the
appointment of a deputy or regent right away until one of
Chalkin's sons came of age - sons who would be specifically,
and firmly, trained to Hold properly. Not that the new Holder
had to be of the Bloodline, but following the precepts of
inheritance outlined in the Charter would pacify the nervous
Lords. To Paulin's way of thinking, competence should always
be the prime decider in succession, and that was not
always passed on in the genes of Bloodlines.
For that matter, Paulin's eldest nephew had shown a sure
grasp of hold management. Sidny was a hard worker, a fair
man, and a good judge of character and ability. Paulin was
half tempted to recommend him for Fort's leadership when
he was gone. He had a few reservations about his son, Mattew,
but Paulin knew that he tended to be more critical of his own
Blood than others were.
He would definitely suggest Bastom's idea to the Council:
good practice for younger folk to have actual hands-on
experience in running a Hold. Considering the state Bitra
Hold was in, a team would be required. Such an expedient
would certainly reduce the cry of 'nepotism', and give young
men and women a chance to display initiative and ability.
When the last of the replies came in, Paulin gave the young
green rider a message for M'shall at Benden Weyr on the
result of the polling. The Weyrleader was sure to be as
disappointed as he was. He tried to convince himself that they
could still get Bitra Hold right and tight in time for Threadfall.
But the sooner it was done, the better. He hoped M'shall
could get back to him about locating the Bitran uncle, and

178

whether he was competent to take Hold. Otherwise a Search
must be made of legitimate heirs to...

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'Fraggitall,' Paulin muttered, pushing back from his desk
and sighing deeply in frustration. One could no longer do a
quick search on the Bloodline Program for a comprehensive
genealogy. Surely that was one program Clisser had printed
out, and copied. 'Well, we'll need a copy of whatever form
that program's in,' he told himself, sighing again. To cheer
himself up, he reviewed the progress report from the new
mine.
They wanted permission to call the hold CROM, an
acronym of the founders: Chester, Ricard, Otty and Minerva.
Paulin didn't see a problem with that but, as a matter of form
- especially right now - the request should first be presented
to the Council. During the Interval so many procedures had
been relaxed and the leniency was now coming back to plague
them, as in the case of Chalkin becoming Lord Holder. At
least Paulin was consoled by the knowledge that it was his
father, the late Lord Emilin, who had voted Fort on that score.
That evidence of bad judgment wasn't Paulin's error even if
it was now up to him to rectify the situation.
There was an abrupt rapping of knuckles on his door and
before he could respond, it swung open: the Benden Weyr-
leader, M'shall, brushed past Mattew to enter.
'We've got to do something NOW, Paulin,' the Weyrleader
said, his expression grim as he hauled off his riding gauntlets
and opened up his jacket.
'You got my message quickly enough . . . Bring klah,
Matt,' Paulin asked, gesturing for his son to be quick.
M'shall's face looked pinched with the cold of between . . .
and more.
'I got it. And that's not the end of it. There's rough weather
in Bitra and people freezing to death because they will not
leave the border,' M'shall announced. 'Will not? Or cannot?'
'More cannot than will not. Though Chalkin sent down
orders that none of the "ungrateful dissenters" could expect
to reclaim their holdings... punishment for defying him...

179

irrespective of the fact that he's putting their lives at risk by
his notion of Holding.'
'How many are involved?' Paulin's sense of alarm
increased.
M'shall ruffled thick greying hair that had been pressed
down by his helmet. 'L'sur says there must be well over a
hundred at the main border crossing into Benden with women,
children and elderlies. There are as many or more at other
border points and no shelter at any, bar what the guards are
using. The refugees have all been herded into a makeshift
pen. What's more atrocious, L'sur saw several bodies hung
up by the feet which seemed to have been used as target
practice. Benden Weyr cannot ignore such barbarity, Paulin.'
'No, it can't, nor can Fort Hold!' Paulin was on his feet and
pacing. 'If that's what he calls Hold management, he has to
be removed.'
'My thinking, too,' M'shall agreed, running agitated hands
through his hair again. 'Another night like last and those
people'11 be dead of exposure and starvation. Bridgely concurs
with me that something has to be done, now, today. And it's
getting towards a cold night now, there. I've come to you for

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Council authority since Bridgely says we'd better do this as
properly as possible...' He paused, bitter. 'Such a situation
is not supposed to happen. Those people aren't defying him.
They're just scared to death and desperate for security...
which obviously they don't expect to find in Bitra.' He hitched
himself forward in the chair. 'Thing is, Paulin, if we hand out
supplies, what's to keep the border guards from just collecting
them the moment we take off? So, I think I'll have to leave
a couple of riders as protection . . . which'11 give Chalkin a
chance to cry "Weyr Interference".'
Paulin felt nauseous. That sort of thing was straight out
of the ancient bloody history the settlers had deliberately left
behind: evolving a code of ethics and conduct that would
make such events improbable! This planet was settled with
the idea that there was room enough for everyone willing
to work the land that was his or hers by Charter-given birth-
right.

180

'There's no interference if your riders stay on your side of
the border. Besides which, Bitra Hold looks to Benden Weyr
for protection...'
'Thread protection,' M'shall corrected.
'In a matter of speaking,' and Paulin's smile was grim, 'this
is partly Thread protection. They're looking for what they
should have had from their Lord Holder, and who else should
they turn to but the Weyr? No,' and he brought one fist down
sharply on the desk. 'You're within your rights... if you've
riders willing to volunteer for such duty.'
'L'sur's stayed on, or so his dragon told Craigath.'
'But no firestone,' and Paulin held up a stern finger, 'much
as some might like to show force.'
'Oh, I've made myself clear on that point, I assure you,'
and M'shall gave a bitter twist to his lips. 'And we haven't
had any training at Benden recently, so there's not a whisper
of flame in any of the dragons. As for disciplining the guards,
a short hop and a long drop between would be my preference
... but...' and he held up both his hands to assure Paulin
of self-restraint.
At that point, Mattew returned with a tray, steaming cups
of klah and soup and a basket of hot breads which he
deposited on the table and left.
M'shall didn't wait for Paulin's invitation but grabbed up
the soup and blew on its surface, sipping as soon as he dared.
'That hits the spot and if you've a cauldron of it, I'll take it
back with me.' He grinned, licking his lips. 'It's certainly hot
enough to survive a jump between.'
'You may have it, cauldron and all. L'sur has stayed on,
you say? How about riders at other crossing points?' Paulin
asked, stirring sweetener into his klah. M'shall nodded.
'Good. Their presence ought to inhibit any further violence.'
But that presence was only a deterrent, not assistance. He
would like to do more than send soup but his position at this
point, even as Council Chair, might be compromised. 'At least
the Weyr has a right to take action, and so does Bridgely,' he
added thoughtfully. He thumped his fist again. 'But I will go
personally to see both Jamson and Azury; especially since

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181

Chalkin has used such extreme measures. I'm hard-pressed
to see the reason for them.'
M'shall shrugged. 'Fort holders have every reason to
trust you, Paulin. Bittans never have had any with Chalkin
holding.'
'What I'd like to do is haul the indecisive - like Jamson
and Azury -and show them what's happening at Bitra. They
probably think we've exaggerated the situation.'
'Exaggerated?' M'shall was indignant, and it was as well
the cup was empty of soup when he planted it hard on the
table. 'Sorry. What's wrong with them?'
'They wouldn't behave in such a manner. It's hard for them
to believe another Lord Holder would.'
'Well,' and M'shall nearly growled, 'he would and he has.'
There was a more circumspect knock on the door which
Matt opened, showing in K'vin.
'I just heard about the border trouble, M'shall. Zulaya had
Meranath bespeak Maruth, so Charanth and I thought to catch
you here,' the young Weyrleader said, his expression as grim
as Benden's.
'So he's blocked the western borders as well?'
K'vin nodded. 'Telgar has no grounds to object to his
closing his borders, but he's deliberately killing people, tufting
them out in this weather. I can't... and won't... permit
people to be treated like that.' He fixed an expectant stare on
Paulin.
'M'shall and I have been discussing the intolerable situ-
ation. I've already polled the Lord Holders with a view to
taking immediate action. The response was not unanimous so
even as Council Chair, there is little I can do - officially, that
is. But, as M'shall pointed out, the Weyr has certain responsi-
bilities to protect people. By stretching a point, you could say
they're Threadqost,' and Paulin's smile was wry, 'escaping a
Hold which is unprepared. So the Weyrs can move where the
Council Chair may not.'
'That's all I need to know!' K'vin slapped his riding gloves
against his thigh to emphasize his approval.
'Of course,' and Paulin held up one hand in restraint, 'you

182

must be careful not to give Chalkin due cause to cite an
infringement against Hold autonomy...'
'Not if that includes deliberate mistreatment of people he's
already misled,' said K'vin, his voice rising in alarm.
'This is not the time to jeopardize the neutrality of the
Weyrs, you know,' Paulin said, looking from one to the other.
'Thread hasn't started falling yet.'
'C'mon, Paulin,' M'shall began in protest.
'I'm with you in spirit, but as Council Chair I have to remind
you - above and beyond my private opinion, that we don't
have the right to interfere in the government of a Hold.'
'You may not, Paulin,' K'vin said. 'But M'shall and I do.
There's truth in what you said about Weyrs protecting people
from peril.'
'From Threadfall...' Paulin reminded the younger Weyr-

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leader.
'From peril,' K'vin repeated firmly. 'Freezing to death
without shelter from inclement weather constitutes peril as
surely as Threadfall does.'
Paulin nodded approvingly. 'I may even forget that you
visited here this morning.' He grinned. 'M'shall, you don't
happen to know where Chalkin's remaining uncle lives?'
'I already thought of that and he's not there,' replied
M'shall. 'Place was empty. Too empty. I know Vergerin was
alive and well last autumn.'
'How do you mean "too empty"?' Paulin asked, jotting
down the uncle's name.
'It had been cleaned out too thoroughly. Not,' and M'shall
held up one hand to forestall Paulin's query, 'as if it had
been set to rights after a man's death, but as if to prove no-one
had been there at all. But Vergerin had cleared vegetation
back from his front court, as every smart holder should.
Someone had thrown debris all around to disguise the
clearance.'
'Has Chalkin anticipated us?' Paulin asked in a rhetorical
question. Then he looked from one dragonrider to the other.
'Rescue those folks before either the weather or Chalkin's
bullies kill them. And I'd like interviews from them, too, once

183

they're not afraid to talk to outsiders.' Just as M'shall had his
hand on the door knob, Paulin added, 'And not so much as
a trickle of flame, please. That could get magnified out of all
proportion.'
K'vin pretended wide-eyed shock at such a notion. M'shall
glanced around. 'I didn't hear that, Paulin,' the Benden
Weyrleader said with stiff dignity.
'As if we would . . .' K'vin remarked to M'shall as they
strode out of Fort Hold.
'I'd like to,' said M'shall, in a taut voice, 'that's the problem.
But then, I've known Chalkin longer than you.'
Craigath and Charanth were already on the court, awaiting
their riders.
'You'll take the western and northern crossings, K'vin?'
M'shall asked as they separated to reach their bronzes. 'Have
you been checking on numbers for transport?'
'Yes, and had sweep riders checking in ever since Chalkin
closed the borders. Zulaya will warn Tashvi and Salda that
we're proceeding. We'll take all to the Weyr first. The entire
Weyr is organized to help.'
'You're a good man, K'vin,' and M'shall grinned at his
colleague. 'So let's do it!' The Benden Weyrleader launched
himself up his dragon's shoulder and swung neatly between
the end ridges.
We go to help? Charanth asked K'vin.
Indeed we do. Tell Meranath to have Zulaya put our plan
into operation. I'll meet my wing at the Falls road. And I think
we'd better ask Iantine to come along.
When K'vin returned to Telgar, the first rescue wave was
ready to take off at his signal. He paused long enough to haul
Iantine behind him on Charanth.
'Get as much down in black and white as you can, Iantine.
I want Chalkin nailed by the evidence.'

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Iantine was all too happy to comply with the request. It
would be one way of paying back the arrogant Lord Holder
for his snaking ways and meanness. But, no sooner had Iantine
dropped to the hard-packed snow of the border point than
his attitude changed to horrified disgust. Using an economy

184

of line, he sketched the 'pen' - ropes looped around trees and
the shivering knots of people forced to stand - for there was
not enough room to sit down - in the churned mud of an
inadequate space. He drew the haggard faces, the chilled
bodies bent inward from cold, or those clumped together to
share what warmth they had. Some had been stripped of all
but what covered private parts, and they had been surrounded
by their fellows in an attempt to keep them from freezing.
Some were standing barefoot on the rough rags and boots of
their neighbours, feet blue and dangerously white from
frostbite. Children wandered weeping with hunger and
fatigue, or slumped in unconscious bundles in the mud at the
feet of the adults. Three elderlies were stiff in death. Bloodied
faces and bruised eyes were more common than the un-
marked.
The guards, however, were warm with many layers of
clothing, good fires with cooking spits turning to roast the
meat of such animals as the refugees had brought with them.
Others were tied or penned up for future use. Such belongings
as the refugees had brought with them were now piled at the
side of the guard house or in the barrows or carts lined up
behind. Iantine faithfully recorded rings and bracelets, even
earrings, inappropriately adorning the guards.
They had been alarmed at the arrival of the dragonriders,
as many as could retreating into the shelter of the stone border
facility. That had made it considerably easier to move the
refugees. Of course, many of them were in such a state of
shock and fear that they were as frightened of the dragons
and the riders as of the brutal guards.
Zulaya had brought weyrfolk with her, and their presence
reassured many. So did the blankets and the warm jackets.
And the soup: the first sustenance many had had since they
had left their holds.
What Iantine couldn't put down on paper were the sounds
and the smells of that scene. And yet he did... in the open
mouths of the terrified folk, their haunted eyes, the con-
tortions of their abused bodies, their ragged coverings, and
the piles of human ordure because the guards had made no

185

belongings and carts.
Now that he had seen real privation, Iantine realized how
lucky he had been in his brief encounter with the Lord Holder
of Bitra.
Iantine returned with the last group, letting his hand rest
only in between, sketching as they flew, propping his pad
against P'tero's back.
'You haven't stopped a moment,' P'tero shouted over his
shoulder. 'You'll freeze your hand up here, you know.'

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Iantine waved it to prove its flexibility and continued to
sketch. He was adding details to the men who had been hung
b), ~heJr bee~s ~ocl ~Jsed in ~rget practice. The men had been
cut down - one of the first things the rescuers had done.
Iantine had only had time enough to do an outline but the
details - despite all the other sketches he had made that day
- were vivid in his mind's eye, and he had to get every one
down on paper or he would feel he had betrayed them.
When the young blue rider deposited him in front of the
Lower Cavern, Iantine, still filling in substance, managed to
get himself to a table near enough the fire to get the good of
the warmth - and increase the fluidity of his drawing. His
fingers gradually thawed and his pencil raced faster.
A touch on his shoulder startled him half out of his chair.
'It's Debera,' and the green rider placed klah and a bowl
of stew in front of him. 'Everyone else has eaten. You'd
better,' she said severely, wrenching the pencil out of one
hand and taking the pad from the other. 'You look awful,'
she added, peering closely at his face.
He reached for his pad but she slapped at his hand, swinging
it out of his reach.
'No, you eat first. You'll draw better for it. Oh, my word?
Her eye was caught by the scene and her free hand went to
her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. 'Oh, they couldn't
have.'
'I sketched what I saw,' he said, exhaling in a remorse that
came from his guts and then inhaling the tantalizing odour
emanating from the stew. He looked down at it, thick with

186

oned

how
~1der

rest
pad

his

to
trig
en
le.
he
~y

vegetables and chunks of meat. They really could do miracles
with wherry here. He picked up the spoon and began to eat,
only then realizing how empty his stomach was. It almost
hurt receiving food, and that nearly made him stop eating
altogether. Chalkin's prisoners had been without food for
three or four days.
'They're all fed now,' Debera murmured.
Iantine gave her a startled glance and she patted his
shoulder reassuringly, as she often patted her Morath.

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'I felt the same way when 1 ate earlier on.' She sat down
across from him. 'We'd been going flat out to feed them when
Tisha made us all stop to get something to eat, too.' She
started turning the pages of his book, the look on her face
becoming more and more distressed at each new scene of the
tragedy. 'How could he?'
Iantine reached over and gently pulled the sketch-pad from
her, setting it down, closed, between them. 'He gave the orders...' Iantine
began.
'And knew just what would happen when he did, I know.
I've met some of his... "guards". Even my father wouldn't
have one about the hold.' She tapped the pad. 'No-one can
ignore that sort of evidence.'
Iantine gave a snort. 'Not with dragonriders verifying what's
in here!' He finished the last of the stew and stretched out
his legs under the table, scrubbing at his face, still tingling
with his long hours in the unremitting cold of the border
crossing.
'Go to bed, why don't you, Iantine?' Debera said, rising.
She glanced around the cavern, which was occupied by only
a few riders and folk finishing their evening meal. 'They've
all been sorted out and you'll be lucky if you have your room
to yourself. But I'd better get some sleep, too. That Morath
of mine! She wakes positively starved, no matter how much
I give her.'
Iantine smiled at the affection that softened Debera's voice.
He got to his feet, swaying slightly. 'You're right. I need sleep.
Good night, Debera.'
He watched her, striding purposefully out of the cavern,

187

observing the proud tilt to her head and set of her shoulders.
She'd changed a great deal since she Impressed Morath. He
grinned, picked up his pad and slowly made his way to his
quarters.
He wasn't sharing with any refugee, but Leopol sprawled
on a bed-pad along one wall and didn't even stir as Iantine
prepared himself for bed.

There were more refugees than originally estimated and while
the resources of the two Weyrs were stretched, the Lord
Holders immediately sent additional supplies and offered
shelter. Some of those rescued were in bad shape from the
cold and could not be immediately transferred to the sanctu-
aries offered by Nerat, Benden and Telgar Holds.
Zulaya had headed a rescue team of the other queens and
the green riders. She came back, seething with rage.
'I knew he was a greedy fool and an idiot, but not a sadist.
There were three pregnant women at the Forest Road border
and they'd been raped because, of course, they couldn't sue
the guards later on a paternity claim.'
'Are the women all right?' K'vin asked, appalled by yet
another instance of the brutality. 'We arrived at the North
Pass just in time to spare three lads from... very unkind
attentions by the guards. Where does Chalkin find such men?'
'From holds which have tossed them out for anti-social
behaviour or criminal activities, of course,' Zulaya replied,
almost spitting in anger. 'And that blizzard's closed in. We

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moved just in time. If we hadn't, I fear most of these people
would be dead by morning. Absolutely nothing allowed them!
Not even the comfort of a fire!'
'I know, I know,' he said, as bitter about the sadistic
behaviour as she was. 'We should have treated those guards
to a taste of absolute cold. Like a long wait between. Only
that would have been a dean death.'
'We still can,' Zulaya said in a grating tone. K'vin regarded
her in astonishment and she glared at him, clenching her fists
at her sides. 'Oh, I know we can't, but that doesn't keep me

188

from wanting to! Did you take Iantine with you? I thought of
how useful on-the-spot sketches might be.'
'In fact, he asked to come. He's got plenty to show Lord
Paulin and the Council,' he said. He swallowed, remembering
the stark drawings that had filled one pad. Iantine's quick
hand had captured the reality, made even more compelling
by the economy of line, depicting horrific scenes of deliberate
cruelty.
The Weyrleaders introduced themselves to the first of the
refugees, and started off by interviewing an older couple.
'M'grandsir's grandsir came to Bitra with the then Holder,'
the man said, his eyes nervously going from one Weyrleader
to the other. He kept wiggling his bandaged fingers, though
N'ran had assured them the pain and itch had been dulled by
fellis and numbweed. 'I'm Brookie, m'woman's Ferina. We
farmed it since. Never no reason to complain, though the
Holder keeps asking for more tithe and there's only so much
comes out of any acre, no matter who tills it. But he'd the
right.'
'Not to take our sow, though,' his mate added, her expres-
sion rebellious. 'We needed that 'un to make more piggies to
meet the tithe he set.' Like her man, she laid a stress on the
pronoun. 'Took our daughter, too, to work in the Hold when
we wanted her land grant. Said we didn't work what we had
good enough so we couldn't have more.'
'Really?' said Zulaya, deceptively mild as she shot K'vin a
meaningful glance. 'Now that's interesting, holder Ferina.'
K'vin envied Zulaya's trick of remembering names.
You could've asked me, Charanth said helpfully.
You've been listening?
The people needed dragons' help. I listen. We all do.
When the pity of dragons has also been aroused, surely
that's enough justification for what we've just done, thought
K'vin, if the Council should turn up stiff. I must remember to
tell Zulaya.
'But he says we got it wrong and we ain't had no teacher
to ask,' the man said. 'An' thassa nuther thing - we should
have a teacher for our kids.'

189

'At least so they can read the Charter and know what
rights you all do have,' Zulaya said firmly. 'I've a copy we
can show you right now, so you can refresh your memories.'
The two exchanged alarmed glances.

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'In fact,' Zulaya went on smoothly, 'I think we'll have
someone read you your rights... since it would be difficult
for you to turn pages with bandaged hands, Brookie. And
you're not in much better case, Ferina.'
Ferina managed a nervous smile. 'I'd like that real well,
Weyrwoman. Real well. Our rights are printed out? In the
Charter and all?'
'Your rights as holders are part of the Charter,' Zulaya
said, shooting K'vin another unhappy look. 'In detailed para-
graphs.' She rose to her feet abruptly. 'Why don't you sit over
there in the sun, Ferina, BrookieT And she pointed to the
eastern wall, where some of the Weyr's elderlies were seated,
enjoying the warmth of the westering sun. 'We'll make sure
you hear it all, and you can ask any questions you want.'
She helped the two to their feet and started them on their
way across the Bowl as K'vin whistled for Leopol.
'Go get the Weyr's copy of the Charter, will you, lad?'
'You want me to read it to them, too?' the boy asked, eyes
glinting partly in mischief and partly because he enjoyed
second-guessing errands.
'Smart pants, are we?' K'vin said. 'No, I think we need T'lan
for this.' He pointed towards the white-haired old brown rider
who was serving klah to the refugees. 'Just get the Charter
now. I'll request T'lan's services.'
Leopol moved off at his usual sprint and K'vin went over
to speak to the elderly brown rider. He had exactly the right
manner to deal with nervous and frightened holders.

Bridgely arrived in Benden Weyr, his face suffused with
blood, torn between fury and laughter.
'The nerve of the man, the consummate nerve!' he
exclaimed and threw down the message he carried. It landed
closer to Irene than M'shall, so she picked it up.

190

'From Chalkin?' she exclaimed, looking up at Bridgely.
'Read it... and pour me some wine, would you, M'shall?~
the Lord Holder said, slipping into a chair. 'I mean, I
know that man's got gall, but to presume . . . to have the
effrontery...'
'Ssssh,' Irene said, her eyes widening as she read. 'Oh, I
don't believe it! Just listen, M'shall. "This Hold has the right
to dragon messengers. The appropriate red striped banner
has been totally ignored though my guards have seen dragons
near enough to see that an urgent message must be delivered.
Therefore I must add . . . "' She peered more closely at
the written page. 'His handwriting's abominable . . . Ah.
"dereliction" really, where does he get off to cry
"dereliction"... "of their prime duty to the other complaints
I am forced to lay at their door. Not only have they been
interfering with the management of this Hold but they fill the
minds of my loyal holders with outrageous lies. I demand their
immediate censure. They are not even reliable enough to
perform those duties which fall within their limited abilities."
Limited abilities?' Irene turned pale with fury. 'I'll unlimit
him!'
'Especially when we've had an earful of how he treats his
loyal holders...' M'shall said, his expression grimmer than

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ever. 'Wait a minute. What's the date on his letter?'
'Five days ago,' Bridgely answered, with a malicious grin.
'He had to send it by rider. From what the fellow told me,
Chalkin's sent messengers to Nerat and Telgar as well. He
wants me, you'll see in the last paragraph, Irene,' and Bridgely
pointed to that section of the missive, 'to forward it by a
reliable messenger to Lord Paulin, registering his complaint
with the Council Chair. I suppose,' and his grin was droll, 'I'll
get another one when he finds out about yesterday's airlift
rescue.'
'The man...' Irene paused, unable to find words. 'When
I think of how he's treated those poor people...'
'And when he's called to account, he'll probably whinge
that his guards exceeded their instructions... and he's fired
them all,' said Bridgely with a cynical shrug.

191

'Oh,' M'shall said brightly, 'not all of them.' He scratched
the back of his head. 'Ah... they wanted to know why they
couldn't get to ride a dragon if the riffraff could.'
'You didn't, M'shall,' Irene exclaimed, her eyes wide with
delighted anticipation, 'drop them off on the way, did you?'
'No,' and M'shall shrugged with mock regret. 'But I felt it
might be wise to . . . ah sequester9. Yes, that's the word,
sequester certain of them should they be required to stand
before the Council and explain exactly what orders they
received.'
'Oh,' and Bridgely turned pensive.
'Oh, I was select, you might say,' and M'shall's face was
grim. 'I found out which had had a hand in those killings and
took testimony against them from bereaved witnesses. Not
even guards, acting under a Lord Holder's orders, may
execute without trial, you know.'
'Oh, indeed, and you've acted circumspectly,' Bridgely said,
nodding with understanding. 'Really, I don't think this can
wait until Turn's End. And I shall so inform Jamson and
Azury.'
'I'd be happy to take you myself,' offered M'shall, 'and
speak for the Weyr. In fact,' and the Weyrleader reached for
Chalkin's written message, 'you could deliver this at the same
time, Bridgely.'
'You are all consideration, Weyrleader,' Bridgely said,
gesturing grandly and looking exceedingly pleased.
'My pleasure at any time, Lord Holder.' M'shall swept his
arm in an equally grand gesture.
'Whenever you can spare a moment from your duties,
Weyrleader?'
'Why, I do believe I can spare an hour or two now, since
I perceive that it is an appropriate time to visit the western
half of the continent...'
'Oh, will you two stop your nonsense and GO!' Irene said,
laughter in her voice though she tried to look reproving. But
their antics relieved the tension in the Weyr.

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High Reaches Boll Holds, Ista Benden Weyr,
Ista Hold - High Reaches Fort Holds and
Telgar Holds

'Now really, M'shall, Bridgely,' said Jamson, fussing with his
robes as he shifted uneasily in his chair. High Reaches was
invariably a cold place and today, in Jamson's private office,
was no exception. The Benden Holder was glad he had riding
furs on and made no attempt to open his jacket nor unglove
his left hand after the usual handshake with Jamson. He noted
M'shall did the same. 'I cannot believe that a Lord Holder
would treat the very people he depends on in such a way. Not
in midwinter.'
'With my own eyes I saw it, Lord Jamson,' M'shall said in
an unequivocal tone. 'And I thought it wise to ask several of
the guards to stay in the Weyr so you may learn what their
orders were.'
'But here, Chalkin complains that you have not accorded
him the courtesy of conveyance.' Jamson frowned.

193

'If you had seen what I have, Lord Jamson, you might
find it hard to oblige him,' M'shall said, his face stark.
'Really, Jamson, don't be such a prick,' Bridgely said, under
no similar restraint of courtesy with his peer. 'Nerat and
Telgar are taking in refugees as well as Benden. You can
speak to any you wish to, to determine the extent of Chalkin's
perfidy...'
'I'll gladly convey you where you wish to go...' M'shall
offered.
'I've my own Weyr,' Jamson said stiffly, 'if I need transport.
But it's not the weather to be travelling about in unnecessarily
at all.'
Which was true enough, since the High Reaches Hold was
cloaked in snow crusted as hard as ice on the ground.
'Agreed,' said Bridgely, trying hard not to shiver and
wondering at Jamson's parsimony with fires, or if the heating
system in the Hold was another victim to technological
obsolescence. 'So you will grant that only a dire need would
bring me out, asking you to change your mind about taking
immediate action against Chalkin. People would have frozen
to death on Bitra's borders last night!' And he pointed
vigorously eastward.
'He doesn't mention that in this,' Jamson said, peering at
the letter on the table.
'Doubtless he'll circulate a longer letter on that score,' said
Bridgely with deep irony. 'But what I saw required me to give
aid without any delay to meditate.'
'As you know, Lord Jamson,' M'shall put in, 'Weyrs are
also autonomous and may withhold services with sufficient
justification. I feel perfectly justified in refusing him basic
courtesies. Come, Bridgely. We're wasting Lord Jamsoh's
valuable time. Good day to you.'
Before the astonished High Reaches Holder could respond
to such peremptory behaviour, the two men had left the
room.
'My word! And I always considered M'shall to be a sensible

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man. Thank goodness, G'don is a solid, predictable Weyr-
leader . . . One simply does not impeach a Lord Holder

194

overnight! Not this close to Threadfall.' Jamson buried his
hands more deeply into the sleeves of his fur-lined jerkin.

Azury was so shocked he did not even comment on M'shall's
'dereliction' of services.
'I'd no idea, really,' he said.
In direct contrast to High Reaches, Southern Boll's weather
was hot enough for Bridgely to wish he'd worn a lighter shirt.
Although they were well shaded from the morning sun on a
porch decorated by a blooming plant with fragrant pink
blossoms tangling in clusters, he had to open his collar and
roll up his sleeves to be comfortable. Azury had ordered a
fruit drink and by the time it came, Bridgely's throat was dry
enough to appreciate the cool tang.
'I know Chalkin's not exactly... reliable,' and Azury then
grinned wryly. 'And I've lost sufficient marks in his little
games of chance to wonder about his basic honesty. But...'
and he shook his head. 'A Holder simply doesn't keep his
folk in the dark about something as critical to their survival
as Thread. Does he really think it won't come? That we're all
foolish or stupid?'
'He is both foolish and stupid,' Bridgely said. 'Why else did
our ancestors bio-engineer the dragons? And develop a totally
unique society to nurture and succour the species, if not for
future need?' He glanced at M'shall who merely raised his
eyebrows. 'It isn't as if we didn't have graphic proof of the
existence of Thread, which was part of our education. Nor
tons of records annotating the problem. It's not something we
thought up to inconvenience Chalkin of Bitra!'
'Preaching to the converted, Bridge,' Azury said. 'He's ten
times the fool if he thinks to brace the rest of the planet on
this score. But,' and he leaned forward on his wickerwood
chair which creaked slightly, 'Holders can spin great lies...'
'And I can spot a whinge and a bitcher as fast as you can,
Azury,' said Bridgely, moving to the edge of his chair which
also reacted noisily to the weight shift. 'Like this chair. You
can interview any of those we've taken in... and the sooner

195

•

•
›

the better, so you can judge the condition they were in before
we rescued them.'
'I think I'd better have an eyes-on at that,' Azury told him.
He raised one hand quickly. 'Not that I doubt you, but

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impeaching another Lord Holder... Nervous-making.'
'That's as may be, but having a Hold that is totally
unprepared for the onslaught of Thread - one that's adjacent
to me,' and Bridgely jabbed a thumb in his chest, 'is far more
nervous-making.'
'You've a point there,' Azury admitted. He looked over his
shoulder and beckoned one of the attendants, asking him to
bring his riding gear. 'You said that Jamson's reluctant?
Doesn't impeachment require a unanimous verdict?'
'It does,' Bridgely agreed, and set his lips in an implacable
line.
Azury grinned, thanking the attendant who had quickly
returned with his gear. 'Then you also need me to add weight
to a second delegation to High Reaches?'
'If you feel you can turn Jamson's opinion?'
Azury stamped into his boots. 'That one's just perverse
enough to hold out, but we'll see. Tashvi, Bastom and Franco
are involved, and I know Paulin is agitated . . . Who does
that leave? Richud of Ista? Well, he will go along with a
majority.' He rose. 'Now, let's leave before I swim in my own
sweat...'

Azury interviewed each of the fourteen refugees still housed
in Benden Weyr as unfit to be transferred elsewhere. He then
had a chat with three of the guards.
'Not that they were in a chatting mood,' he said, his light
blue eyes vivid with anger in his tanned face, 'but they may
soon have second thoughts on how much their loyalty is worth
to Lord Chalkin. They do claim,' and, as he grinned, his teeth
were very white against his skin, 'that they were outnumbered
by the influx of so many ranting, raving maniacs and had to
use force to restrain them until they could receive orders from
the Hold.'

196

'That conflicts with what the ranting, raving maniacs say,
doesn't it?' M'shall replied.
'Oh, indeed,' Azury agreed, grinning without humour. 'And
I do wonder that the guards came out of the ranting and raving
mass unscathed while all of the maniacs seem to have a variety
of injuries. Clearly the truth is being pulled in many directions.
But it lies there, limpid as usual, to the eye that sees and the
ear that hears.'
'Well said,' Bridgely nodded.
'So let's speak with Richud.'
It was harder to find the Lord Holder of Ista because he
had taken the afternoon off to fish - his favourite occupation.
The harbourmaster was unable to give any specific direction
for a search.
'The dolphins went with him... circle your dragon, and
see can he spot them? Small sloop with a red sail but a lot of
dolphins. Richud claims they understand him. He may be
right,' and the elderly man scratched his head, grinning with
amusement at the notion.
'They do - according to the records,' Azury said. 'My fishers
always watch out for them in the Currents.'
'Wal, as you wish,' the Harbourmaster said and went back
to his tedious accounting of creel weights lifted ashore the

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previous seven days.
Craigath flew his passengers in a high-altitude circle, spiral-
ling outwards from Ista Harbour. It was he who spotted the
craft and, with mighty use of his pinions, dived for it.
Despite the broad safety band securing him to his position,
Azury grabbed frantically at Bridgely who was sitting in front
of him and Bridgely worried lest his own grip bruise the
dragonrider.
M'shall merely turned his head to grin back at them. The
words he spoke - for his mouth moved - were lost in the
speed of their descent. Bridgely watched the sea coming
nearer and nearer and arched himself slightly backwards.
He'd ridden often enough not to be alarmed by dragon antics,
but never at such an angle or speed. He tightened his hold
on his safety straps and argued himself out of closing his

197

cowardly eyes. Just as it seemed as if Craigath would impale
himself on the mast of the sloop - which wasn't all that small
to Bridgely's mind - the bronze went into hover, startling the
two crew who were watching Richud struggle with a pole bent
almost double by his efforts to land the fish he'd hooked.
'Any time you're free, Lord Richud,' shouted M'shall
between his cupped hands.
Richud glanced once over his shoulder, then again, and lost
control of pole and fish - the reel spinning wildly as pressure
ended.
'Don't creep up on me like that! Lookit what you made me
do! Fraggit! Can't I ever get an afternoon off? Oh well, what
catastrophe's hit us now? Must be something bad to bring the
three of you this far south.'
He handed his pole to a crewman and came to the starboard
side. There was still some distance between him and his
visitors.
'I'd ask you aboard, but the bronze would sink us,' he
said.
'No problem,' M'shall said and his eyes unfocused as he
spoke to his dragon. Can you get us a little closer, Craigath?
Craigath, eyes gleaming bluely and whirling with some
speed, set himself down in the water, wings neatly furled to
his backbone while with his left forearm he took hold of
the safety rail, pulling himself and his passengers closer to the
hull of the ship. The sloop began to heel over at the strength
of the dragon's hold.
The wind left the sail and the boom started to whip round
when, just as abruptly, the sail caught wind again and the ship
resumed her forward motion and speed.
M'shall laughed, thumping Craigath on the neck in appreci-
ation of the completed manoeuvre.
'What'd he do? How'd he do that? What under the sun?'
Richud was looking at the dragon, back at the ship, and then
at M'shall in confusion.
'He's paddling to keep up so you won't lose headway,' the
Benden Wayrleader explained.
This i,~ f~r~ I like it, Craigath informed his rider.

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'He's enjoying himself,' said M'shall.
'He won't snap the rail, will he?' Richud asked, staring with
some apprehension at the huge forepaw clutching the metal
upright.
The dragon shook his head. It is fragile so I don't hold it
hard.
M'shall paused a moment. 'Good lad. He says he's well
aware of its fragility.'
'He didn't say that,' Richud replied, shaking his head in
denial. 'Fragility?'
'His very word. Craigath's got quite a vocabulary. You
know how Irene speaks . . . well, he has to keep up with
Maruth, doesn't he?'
The dragon nodded.
'Well, I never. Never seen Ronelth or Jemath swim like
this either,' Richud murmured. 'So, what urgent matter brings
you here?'
'Chalkin must be impeached as soon as possible. A Hold
is autonomous until it exceeds its rights,' Bridgely said, and
went on to give the Istan Lord Holder details of Chalkin's
heinous behavior.
'I'd no idea he'd evict so many. Surely it's winter up there
and they'd be in danger of freezing?'
'They would be and have been,' M'shall said.
'Their condition was appalling, Richud,' Azury told him. 'I
went to Benden myself to see. And the guards . . . ' He
dismissed them with a wide gesture. 'You know the sort
Chalkin hires...'
'Yes, toughnecks, layabouts, ruffians and scoundrels like
those Gather artists of his.' Richud paused in thought. 'Has
that impeachment clause ever been used?'
'No, but it was put there as a safeguard. And there are a
lot of people in Bitra who need their safety guarded . . .
especially this close to Fall.'
'Agreed. I'll go along with you. Only,' and his tone turned
entreating, 'not when I have an afternoon off to fish?'
Craigath let go of the rail and the two groups drifted apart.
Suddenly the bronze shuddered from pate to tail.

I like that. Do it again.
Who are you talking to, Craigath? M'shall demanded,
having had to clutch the neck ridge and lift his legs high above
sudden waves sloshing Craigath's sides. His passengers had
reacted as well to keep from a wetting. Doll fins rubbed me.
Playful, are they? Well, another time, my friend. We still have
work to do. 'Sorry about that. The dolphins were tickling
Craigath.'
'Dragons are ticklish?' Bridgely asked, startled.
'Their bellies, yes.'
Dolphins flowed from under the dragon now, leaping up in
the air and diving neatly back into the water as they sped off
after the sloop.
'So what do we do now? Beard Jamson again?' asked
M'shall, stroking the bronze's neck affectionately. He was
amused to see that Richud had retrieved his pole and
was evidently baiting his hook.
'We'd probably have to drag Jamson down to Benden so
he can see for himself, as you had to, Azury,' Bridgely said,

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shivering as he thought of having to return to the frigid High
Reaches.
Take the pictures, suggested Craigath, to his rider's astonish-
ment. Dragons did not often offer unsolicited opinions, but
then M'shall considered Craigath very intelligent. 'What pictures?' he asked.
'Pictures?' echoed Bridgely. 'What pictures?'
Maruth says there are pictures. At Telgar.
'At Telgar?'
'Oh, that young painter,' M'shall and Bridgely said in
unison.
'What painter?' Azury wanted to know.
Bridgely explained.
'Very good idea, if Jamson will accept the proof as genuine,'
the Southern Boll Holder said, sceptically. Which was exactly what happened.
'How can you be sure these are accurate?' asked the High
Reaches Lord Holder when he had leafed through the

200

vivid and detailed drawings on Iantine's pad. 'I think the
whole matter has been exaggerated out of all proportion.' He
closed the pad halfway on the stark sketch of the hanging
men.
'And you won't even accept my word, Jamson?' Azury said.
'I've just been there and spoken to these people...' He riffled
through the pages and came to one of a holder he'd inter-
viewed. 'That fellow, for instance. I spoke to him myself, and
I've no trouble accepting the truth of his story. He was four
nights in an animal pen with no food and only the moisture
he could get from snow, with his wife and elderly parents.
Incidentally, they died of exposure despite all that Benden
Weyr could do to try to revive them.'
'I do not see why, Azury,' Jamson said at his most pompous,
'you do not content yourself with running your own Hold.
Leave Chalkin to run his. He has the right.'
'But not the right to inflict atrocities on any of his people.'
Azury's reply was heated.
Jamson regarded him coldly. 'A few lazy holders...'
'A FEW?' Bridgely exploded in frustration which, even as
he did so, he knew defeated his purpose. 'A few hundred is
more like it, Jamson. And for that many we should all stir
ourselves!'
'Well, I for one shall not, Bridgely. And that's final.' He
folded his arms across his chest and sat there, glaring at his
visitors.
'Jamson,' Azury said in a very controlled, calm voice as he
pushed Bridgely to one side and leaned across the desk
towards Jamson huddled in his furs. 'I, too, was sceptical when
Bridgely came to me, unwilling to believe his report, much
less his solution to the problem. One does not lightly impugn
the honour of a peer, and I could not understand why Bridgely
was so agitated over a few insignificant holders. Then, too,
Bitra is too far to affect anything in my Hold. Though I quite
took his point that Thread must not be allowed to burrow
unchecked anywhere on the northern continent. So I con-
ceived that it was my duty, my responsibility, to personally
investigate the allegations.

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'I have the witness of my own eyes and ears now. As well
as the disparity between what the guards told me and the
evidence of my own eyes. The Bitran situation is dire and
must be rectified. We cannot, as intelligent, responsible
leaders, allow such a situation to fester and spread. It affects
the very roots of our society, the strength of the Charter, the
fundamentals on which this whole society is based. We cannot
ignore it as the internal problem of an autonomous Holding.
You as an honourable Lord Holder owe it to yourself to
investigate the situation. Then you can come to a considered
judgment. At least, set your own doubts to rest by going, as
I did, to Benden and gather first-hand information.'
'I have no doubts,' Jamson said. 'The Charter clearly states
that a Lord Holder has autonomy within his borders. What
he does is his business, and that's that. I should certainly
protest against anyone poking his nose in my business. So I
suggest you take your meddling noses and spurious charges
out of here, right now!'
This time he rang a handbell and, when his oldest son
opened the door in response, he said, 'They're leaving. See
them out.'
Bridgely took in a deep breath, but a sudden short blow to
his midriff by Azury robbed him of wind to speak and he was
helpless as the Southern Boll Holder dragged him out of the
room.
'No matter what you said, he's not in a mood to listen,'
Azury told him, straightening Bridgely's jacket in a tacit
apology.
'Lord Azury's right, I'm afraid,' M'shall agreed.
'You came about BitraT the son asked, leaning against the
heavy office door to be sure it was tightly closed. 'I'm GallJan,
his eldest and acting steward.' 'You've heard?'
'Hmmm, the door was a bit ajar,' said Gallian, not at
all penitent about eavesdropping, 'and during your last visit
too. Father's memory's slipping a bit, so one of us tries to
be nearby for important visits. He sometimes gets details
muddled.'

202

'Any chance you can unmuddle this visit to get his co-
operation?'
'May I see the sketches?' He held out one hand.
'Certainly,' Bridgely said and put the pad in his hand.
'Awful,' Gallian said, shaking his head as he viewed the
distressing scenes and peering briefly with intent gaze at one
or two. 'And these are accurate?' he asked Azury.
'Yes, inasmuch as I verified the condition of some of these
people now at Benden Weyr,' Azury replied.
The bell jangled. GallJan thrust the pad at Azury.
'I'll do what I can. And not because I already consider

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Chalkin a thief and a cheat. I must go. See yourselves out,
can you?'
'We can and will.'
'What could the boy do?' M'shall wanted to know as they
ran quickly down the steps to the front door and out into the
icy air.
'One can never tell,' Azury admitted. 'Shards, but it's
colder than between here. Get me back to my sun as fast as
possible.'
'Would a stop at Fort Hold be too much to expect from
you?' asked Bridgely, grinning at the southerner's chattering
teeth.
'No, and I expect it's a tactical necessity in this struggle with
Chalkin.'
M'shall nodded approvingly and, vaulting to Craigath's
back, lent a hand to the other two to mount.

The ambient temperature at Fort Hold was not warm but a
decided improvement over High Reaches. Warmer still was
the greeting Paulin gave them, insisting on a hot mulled wine
when he heard of their adventures.
'I don't expect Jamson will change his mind, especially now
he has been specifically asked to do so,' Paulin said when his
guests were settled near the good fire he had on his office
hearth. 'Jamson's always been perverse.'
'Then the son is unlikely to be able to alter him?' Bridgely

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asked, depressed that they had obviously only polarized
Jamson's opposition.
'Gallian's a good man,' Paulin said, temporizing, 'but the
truth is Jamson's getting old - as well as odd - and Gallian
has taken over a great deal of the management.'
'Really?' Bridgely was surprised for, despite his regret
for Jamson's intransigence, the High Reaches Holder had
a good reputation and his Hold showed his skill as a
manager.
'Hmmm, yes. In confidence, now, my friends, but Gallian
and his mother came to me a year or so ago when they noticed
Jamson was having spates of memory loss. Even counter-
manded orders he had written out himself.'
'But something like this - impeachment, I mean - Jamson
would have to be present. Wouldn't he?' Paulin rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
'And there is some urgency to our taking action,' Bridgely
added. 'How could we wait until such time as Gallian thinks
he can persuade his father that he said opposite to what he
just told us?'
'We can wait a few weeks... now that we've removed the
refugees from Chalkin's... ah... benevolent management,'
Paulin said, but there was a glint in his blue eyes when he
turned them on Bridgely that was reassuring.
Bridgely opened his mouth and then closed it. It would be
as well to keep his thoughts - and questions - to himself rather
than queer Paulin's plans.
'Let me have a look at that pictorial evidence Iantine was
clever enough to make,' the Fort Holder asked, and Azury
passed him the pad. He went carefully through the sketches.
'Remarkable talent the boy has. So few lines to express so

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much: the cold, the squalor, the agony and the pathetic
endurance of these poor folk. Issony mentioned that one of
Chalkin's restrictions over his lessons was that the Charter
wasn't to be included.'
'He didn't!' exclaimed Azury, looking up from the pleasur-
able sipping of the well-spiced wine.
'That would explain why so few of his holders even knew

204

it existed,' M'shall said in a terse voice. 'And didn't know they
had rights, too.'
'By the way, Clisser's new teaching programme handles that
very nicely indeed,' said Paulin, rising to refill cups from the
beaker kept hot by the fire. 'Children will learn their rights
from the moment they learn to sing 'em.' 'Really?' Bridgely looked intrigued.
'With this new Pass upon us, it's appropriate to redefine
quite a few parameters, including the education we give our
young folk,' Paulin said. 'Rote learning from an early age -
and music is a great help in that - has much to commend it
now we no longer have information at our finger-tips.'

Iantine was painting Zulaya when his sketchbook was
returned to him by K'vin.
'M'shall stopped by with this, and says to tell you it's been
an enormous help,' the Weyrleader said, but his attention was
more on Zulaya, posing for her portrait.
She was seated on the edge of Meranath's stone couch
where the sleeping dragon lay, her head resting on her
forepaws and turned towards her rider. K'vin was very
pleased to see that his Weyrmate was wearing the red brocade
Gather dress which was artistically draped so that the rich
design was displayed. Zulaya had her hair up in an intricate
style, held in place by the combs he had given her last
Turn's End, the black diamonds in them sparkling when she
moved her head. As she did just then, opening her mouth to
speak.
'Stay still... please,' Iantine said, stressing the last word
as if he was tired of repeating the order. She snapped her
mouth shut and returned to the pose.
K'vin stepped back, well behind Iantine, as he worked,
making delicate brush strokes on Zulaya's painted face. K'vin
couldn't see any difference, but Iantine seemed to be satisfied
and started working on highlights for her hair.
The young man certainly had caught the spirit of his
Weyrmate - slightly imperious, though the upcurve of her lips

205

suggested humour. K'vin knew that Zulaya found it amusing
to sit for a portrait at all, and was twitting him about what he
should wear to be immortalized. K'vin also knew about
Iantine's project to do miniatures of all the riders. Ambitious,
considering there were close to six hundred in the Weyr at
the moment. On the one hand, K'vin was grateful these would
be the gallery, while on the other hand, he dreaded those who
would become casualties.
'Will it make it any easier not to have pictures?' Zulaya

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had asked the other night when she had required him to tell
her why he was so preoccupied. 'We have nothing to remind
us of the first occupants of this Weyr. I think I would have
liked that. Gives a continuity to life and living.'
K'vin had supposed it did, and decided that he had to have
a more positive attitude.
'It's not as if we knew who will not be here this time next
year,' she added. 'But it'd be nice to know that they were here.'
'How much longer, Iantine?' Zulaya asked plaintively. The
fingers of the hand she had resting on her thigh twitched. 'I
can't feel my feet or my left hand any more.'
Iantine gave an exaggerated sigh and laid down the palette,
scratching his head with the now free hand as he swished the
fine brush in the jar on the table. 'Sorry, Zulaya. You should
by rights have had a break some time ago. But the light's
perfect and I didn't want to stop.'
'Oh, help me up, K'vin,' Zulaya said, holding out a hand.
'I don't usually get a chance to sit still so long...'
K'vin was glad to assist her and she was stiff enough so that
her first steps were awkward. Then she recovered her mobility
and walked firmly to the easel.
'My word, you did do yards today, didn't you? Filled in that
whole panel of the dress and . . . have you got my eyes
crossed?'
Iantine laughed. 'No, step a little to this side. Now back
again. Do the eyes seem to follow you?'
Zulaya gave a little shake, widening her eyes. 'They do.
How do you contrive that? I must say, I'm not so sure I like
me watching everything I do.'

206

~using
~at he
about
itious,
~yr at
vould
who

Ilaya
. tell
find
~lve

K'vin chuckled. 'You won't, but your presence hanging in
the Lower Cavern may spur the lazy to complete their tasks
more quickly.'
'I'm not sure I like that idea any more than having me
leering at me up here.' She turned to the table, mostly covered
by Iantine's paraphernalia. 'I had klah sent up not too long
ago,' and she cast an accusing eye on Iantine. 'It should still
be hot.' She unscrewed the lid and steam obediently rose. 'It
is. Shall I pour for all of us?' Which she was doing even as
she spoke.
'Maybe I should leave now?' Iantine suggested, looking
from one to the other.
'No,' she said quickly.
'I wanted to be sure your sketches were safely in your

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possession,' said K'vin, taking a chair.
'And, did they solve the problem?' Zulaya asked, spooning
sweetener in the cups and passing him his. 'Come, sit, Iantine.
You must be more tired than I am. I've been sitting the whole
time.'
Iantine grinned as if- K'vin noted with a twinge of jealousy
- totally at his ease with the Weyrwoman. Few were, except
Tisha who treated everyone like an errant child or Leopol
who was impudent with everyone.
'So? What's the result?' She indicated with a wave of her
hand that he should speak out in the portraitist's presence.
'M'shall's disgusted. They still don't have a unanimous
decision about impeachment. Jamson's the hold-out.'
'He's not always dealing with a full deck,' Zulaya said
succinctly, 'at least so Mari of High Reaches Weyr told me.
And he's getting worse. Thea takes charge when she can, and
that older lad of his...'
'GallJan's my age,' K'vin exclaimed. 'Can't they get around
that?'
'Short of making Jamson abdicate, no. At least according
to my understanding of the Charter. And it just got refreshed.'
She gave K'vin a droll smile. 'As well I listened in to what
T'lan was reading. I'd forgotten the half of it myself. Have
you reread it recently?'

207

'I did,' K'vin said, nodding and glad that he had. 'Mind you,
it isn't as ironclad as we used to think. Far more autonomy
granted...'
'Where it can be abused by misdirection,' Iantine said. 'I
borrowed the copy. It's going the rounds in the Weyr.'
'No matter how Chalkin tries to interpret a Lord Holder's
privilege, he can't deny that he's abrogated almost every right
the holders are supposed to have . . . such as removal only
after a jury of their peers had been convened. Which he
certainly ignored in turfing them out . . . and THEN con-
straining them in unsuitable conditions. There certainly was
no collusion or organized mutiny. They hadn't even presented
him with a list of their grievances.'
'Didn't know they could,' Iantine said, his expression
uncompromising. 'Had to have the word "mutiny" explained
to them, and then denied that they'd do such a thing.'
'And Jamson won't budge?' Zulaya asked.
K'vin shook his head.
'Won't he even come and speak to some of the refugees?'
'Doesn't feel it's his right to interfere in the autonomy of
another Lord Holder,' K'vin told her.
Iantine growled in disgust. 'I'll bet he really didn't believe
my drawings were accurate.'
K'vin nodded. 'Even after Azury informed him that he
thought you had glossed over some of the more gruesome
injuries.'
'Or some of the unseen ones, like those pregnant women,'
Zulaya added, her eyes flashing with outrage. 'How are they?' K'vin asked.
'One has delivered prematurely, but she and the babe will
be all right. The others... well, Tisha's doing what she can
ú.. getting them to talk it all out before it festers too much
in their minds.'

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'They can swear out warrants against the guards...' Iantine
began.
'They have,' Zulaya said in a harsh tone, her smile un-
pleasant. 'And we have the guards. As soon as the women
feel strong enough to testify, we're convening a court here.

208

And M'shall wants to try the murderers he's holding at
Benden.'
'Two trials then?'
'Yes, one for rape and one for murder. Not at all our usual
winter occupation, is it?' Zulaya said in a droll tone.
'Is Telgat Hold joint with us?' K'vin asked, for the Weyr's
Hold should be represented in such a process. He'd been
surprised at how detailed the Charter was; his recollections
of its contents was entirely too hazy. In this particular instance,
they were also dealing with another Holder's employees for
a matter that had come up within that Hold, not an incident
in Telgat Weyr, or within the jurisdiction of Telgat Hold. 'But
the men are Bitran. Are we allowed to?'
'Indeed we're within our rights,' Zulaya answered firmly.
'Justice can be administered anywhere, provided the circum-
stances warrant. As the victims are currently in this Weyr and
so are their attackers, we may legally hold trial here. However,
we'll make sure to invite representatives of other Holds and
Weyrs to oversee that justice is done.'
'How about making sure Jamson attends?' K'vin asked with
some malice.
Zulaya gave him a broad smile. 'That might alter the old
fool's ideas about autonomy.'
'And Chalkin?' Iantine asked, an intense expression of
anticipation in his eyes.
K'vin chuckled. 'We'll see about that. His attendance might
just solve the problem.'
'Or compound it,' Zulaya said, shaking her head. 'He's too
clever to be caught out over what his men do. Or to come
when he hears what it's about.'
'No-one's going to tell him, are they?' K'vin said.
'I wouldn't count on that, sir,' Iantine said mournfully. 'It's
amazing what he does hear that he shouldn't.'
'Then we keep what we've just discussed here,' and Zulaya
pointed her finger firmly down, 'and not a whisper to anyone
else. Right, Iantine?'
'Right!' Iantine nodded sharply.

209

The Trials at Telgar and Ben den Weyrs

As it happened, a blizzard covered most of the eastern
mountain ranges and all of Bitra when the trial was con-
vened. The winds were too fierce over Bitra for even a
dragon to penetrate. The storm had not yet reached Benden
so they, and representatives from every Weyr and Hold,
were present: with the exception of Lord Jamson of the

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High Reaches who was very ill of a respiratory fever.
The Lady Holder Thea came, annoyed that Jamson had a
legitimate excuse for his absence and had sent Gallian in his
place.
'It might have done that stubborn streak of his some good
to hear just how that Chalkin conducts his Hold. Oh, he'd've
spouted on about autonomy but he most certainly is against
any harm coming to unborn children.' Thea gave Zulaya a
significant nod, reminding those around her that she had
borne fourteen children to Lord Jamson in the course of her
fertile years: sufficient to substantially increase the borders of

210

the Hold when the children were old enough to claim their
land grants.
Held in the capacious Lower Cavern at Benden Weyr, the
first of the two trials was a sobering, well-conducted affair. At
one time there had been trained legists on Pern, but the need
for such persons had waned. Most arguments were ~~ttl~O by
negotiated compromise or, when all negotiation efforts failed,
by hand-to-hand combat. Consequently a spokesperson for
the accused guards had to be found: one of the teachers from
Fort Hold who specialized in legal contracts and land deeds
reluctantly agreed to officiate.
Gardner had not been very enthusiastic about involving
himself, however briefly, with rapists but he recognized
the necessity for representation and did his best. He had
perfunctorily questioned the victims as to the identity of their
alleged assailants and tried to shake their testimony. The three
women were no longer the frightened, half-starved wretches
who had been so abused. Their time in the Weyr had
done wonders for their courage, self-esteem and appearance.
Gardner even insisted that they had been rehearsed in their
testimony, but that did not mitigate the circumstances of the
grievous bodily and mental harm inflicted on them.
'Sure I rehearsed,' the oldest of the women said loudly. 'In
me mind, night after night, how I was flung down and . . .
done by dirty men as wouldn't have dared step inside a decent
woman's hold with such notions in their head. I ache still
rehearsing . . .' and she spat the word at him, 'what they
did, again and again and again.' For emphasis she slammed
one fist into the other hand. Gardner ceased that line of
questioning.
In the end, he managed one small concession for the
accused: the right to be returned to their Contract Hold,
following the trial, rather than have to make their own way
back to Bitra.
'Fat lot of good that'll do them,' Zulaya muttered under
her breath when he won that point. 'Chalkin hates losers and
those guys have lost a lot more than their contract.'
'I wonder what sort of tone Chalkin's next letter of protest

211

will take,' Irene said with a malicious chuckle. Paulin had
received a thick screed from the Bitran Holder when he
discovered the 'unmitigated interference of assorted renegade

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dragonriders in his affairs and the abduction of loyal holders
from their premises'. 'If he dares make one...' She went on.
'Oh, why did it have to snow so hard? I'd love to have had
him here when his guards said they "was only following orders
to keep the holders from leaving"! M'shall would have
gathered him up in a ball and rendered him spitless!'
M'shall had assumed the role of prosecutor, claiming that
right since it had been his riders who were first on the scene.
He had been exceedingly precise in manner and in his
questioning.
'Poring over the Charter and what books Clisser could send
him on legal procedures,' Irene told Zulaya with a broad grin.
'It's done him a world of good. Taken his mind off... the
spring, you know.'
Zulaya had nodded approvingly. 'He'd have been a good
legist... or did they call them lawyers? No, barristers.'
'Yes, barristers stood before the judge and handled the trial
procedures,' Irene replied.
'Gardner wasn't half bad, you know. He tried,' Zulaya
remarked. 'I'11 even forgive him asking for mercy for those
miserable clods. After all, he had to appear to work for his
clients,' she added tolerantly. 'I'm glad we had Iantine sit up
close. I want to see his sketches of the trial. I could wish he
worked as fast with my portrait.'
'Your portrait is scarcely the same thing as annotating a
trial. And he's to come to Benden when he's finished with
you two, you know.'
Zulaya was pleased to hear the pride in Irene's voice when
she mentioned Iantine. He was a Bendenian.
'You mean, when he's finished sketching our riders?'
Irene gave a wistful smile, tinged with sadness. 'You'll be
glad he did. I wonder will he do the same thing for us at
Benden?'
'Whatever he can fit in, I'm sure. That young man's got
himself more work than he can handle.'

212

'If he can get it all done before . . oh, the jury's
back.'
The twelve men and women, picked at random by straw
from those who had come to observe, had listened to all the
evidence. Tashvi, Bridgely and Franco had sat as judges. Now
a silence descended over the room, so intense that a cough
was quickly muffled.
The three rapists were accounted guilty as charged and
three more were sentenced as accessories, since they had
helped pin the victims down. The penalty for the rape of a
pregnant woman was castration, which was to be carried out
immediately. The others were to receive forty lashes, well laid
on by Telgar's large and strong stewards.
'They were lucky there isn't Fall,' Zulaya remarked to
Irene, Lady Thea and K'vin. 'Otherwise they could also have
been tied out during the next Fall.'
Despite herself, Thea gave a shudder. 'Which is probably
why there are so few cases of rape recorded in our Hold's
annals.'
'Small wonder,' K'vin said, crossing his legs again. Zulaya
had noticed his defensive position and her lips twitched

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briefly. He turned away. His Weyrmate had nearly cheered
aloud when the verdict was delivered.
'You can't do that to me,' one of the guards was roaring
now as he belatedly realized the significance of the verdict.
He had been the leader of the men stationed at the eastern
border crossing. The other defendants were too stunned, their
mouths moving in soundless protest, Morinst being loud
enough to drown out any complaint they could voice. 'You're
none of you my Lord,' he'd railed at three Lord Holder
judges. 'You've got no right to do this.'
'And you had no right to rape a pregnant woman!'
'But Chalkin ain't even here.' The man writhed in the grip
of his guards.
'Chalkin's presence would have had no effect on the trial
or the verdict,' said Tashvi, at his most repressive.
'But he should've been here!' Morinst protested.
'He was invited to attend,' Tashvi said without regret.

213

'He's gotta know. You can't do nuthin' without him know-
ing. I gotta contract with him.'
'To rape, torture and humiliate?' Bridgely asked in too soft
a voice.
Morinst clamped his lips shut. He struggled more violently
as the bailiffs aimed him towards the exit . . . And his
punishment. Not that he could escape either the sentence or
the Weyr. The other two were still too stunned to resist their
removal to the infirmary where the verdict would be carried
out. Those to be lashed were brought outside, though not all
the audience followed to witness the corporal punishment.
When that, too, had been completed and the men removed
to have their wounds treated, the observers filed back into
the Lower Cavern. While this was scarcely an occasion for
celebration, except that justice had been served, a substantial
meal had been prepared. Wine was the first item sought and
served.
'You were superb, M'shall,' said Irene when her Weyrmate
joined her, a newly opened skin of Benden wine on his
shoulder, 'and do please give me a glass. Though I'm sure
you need one more than I. Nice of Bridgely to supply it,' she
added to Zulaya.
'I think we all need it,' the Telgar Weyrwoman said,
glancing over to where the three plaintiffs were celebrating
with considerable enthusiasm. Well, let them. 'Now what do
we do?'
'Well, we've the second trial to get through. I hope it goes
as well,' M'shall said.
'NO, with them,' and his Weyrmate pointed to the three
women.
'Oh. That them. They say they just want to go back to their
homes. Not going to let Chalkin take it because they're not
there holding their places.' He made a grimace. 'Some of them
don't really have much to go back to. Chalkin's bullies burned
what was flammable and pulled down what they could. I'd say
the storms kept more damage from being done. But,' and he
altered the grimace to a grin, 'give 'em credit. They do own
what they hold, and now they know it. It may give them a tad

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214

more backbone next time they're chivvied and more pride in
what they do. They've also asked for ground-crew training.'
'Nothing like losing something - however briefly - to make
you value what you have,' Thea said. 'On the practical side,
though, I think High Reaches can supply some basic items.
Anyone organizing that?' She glanced about at others in the
group. 'D'you have numbers yet?'
'Actually we do,' Zulaya said, including Irene in her nod.
'Three hundred and forty-two - no, forty-three with that
premature baby. It's very good of you to offer, Thea.'
Thea snorted. 'I've reread the Charter, too, and know my
duty to my fellow creatures. You wouldn't also happen to
know how many poor wretches hold in Bitra?'
M'shall had that answer. 'Of course, you can't tell if Chalkin
doctored the last census or not, but he's supposed to have
24,657 inhabitants.'
'Really?' Zulaya was surprised.
'But then, Bitra's one of the smaller holds and doesn't have
any indigenous industry - apart from some forestry. The
mining's down to what's needed locally. There're a few looms
working, but no great competition for Keroon or Benden.'
'And the gaming,' Thea added with a disgusted sniff.
'That's Chalkin's main industry.'
'Well, he's lost a lot on this gamble,' Zulaya said.
'Has he?' K'vin wanted to know.

The second trial was almost anticlimactic. Gardner again
represented the seven defendants accused of 'allegedly caus-
ing grievous bodily harm and death' to five innocent men and
women.
While Gardner again stipulated that the men had only been
following orders to 'restrain by any means' anyone trying to
cross the border out of Bitra Hold, their putative domicile, it
was claimed that unnecessarily severe restraint had been used
and caused the deaths of persons who should not have been
denied 'lawful' exit, this being a usurpation of their basic
Chartered Right to freedom of movement.

The subsequent mutilation and/or torture of the seven, the
prosecution said, was not inherent in the order to 'restrain by
any means'. Chalkin had no right to take the lives of any
holders without due cause and/or trial by jury.
The day's jury retired and, within half an hour, unanimously
rendered a verdict of guilty. The men were sentenced to
be transported by dragonback to the eastern islands with a
seven-day supply of food, which was the customary punish-
ment for murderers.
'Are there many on the islands?' Thea asked. 'I mean, there
have been others sequestered there. Even families, I read, but
that was years ago.'
Zulaya sbrpgged. 'Telgar's never had to take anyone there,
so I wouldn't know.'
'Benden hasn't,' Irene said, 'at least not as long as we've
been Leaders.'
'My father sent two,' Paulin said. 'And I do believe that
both Ista and Nerat have sent killers there.'

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'Chalkin did, too,' Gallian surprised them by saying. 'About
four years ago. I don't know where I heard about them. Some
sort of real trouble down in his Hold, and he had Ista transport
them since the men originated from that Hold.'
'Oh, I remember now,' Irene said. 'M'shall only mentioned
he was glad he hadn't had to do the transport.'
'Maybe we should send Chalkin's men there when they can
travel,' Zulaya suggested.
'No, let him see that we won't tolerate his methods of
Holding,' Irene said, her tone implacable. 'Maybe he'll come
to his senses.'
'That'll be the day!' Zulaya said facetiously.
When snow had melted sufficiently to allow any travel out
of Bitra, Chalkin did send another blistering note of protest
to Paulin, making it plain that he intended to demand
compensation at the Turn's End Conclave for the 'ritual
disfigurement of men only doing their duty'. This time,
however, an elderly green rider collected the message when
the urgent banner was seen flying from the panel heights of
Bitra Hold. F'tol endured a long harangue from Chalkin that

216

the letter had better be delivered, that dragonriders were
parasites on the face of Pern, that there'd be some changes
made or . . . F'tol was neither intimidated nor impressed.
Stoically he took the letter and responsibly delivered it.
Whether Chalkin knew, or cared, that the refugees had
been returned to their holdings was not known. F'tol was
reasonably sure that would have been included in the
tirade, since Chalkin seemed to have included every other
shortcoming, mistake and venial sin ever committed by a
dragonrider.
Both Telgar and Benden Weyrs made daily checks on
the returned, to reassure them as well as those concerned
/with their welfare. Of course the conditions in Bitra, with
dragon-high drifts blocking major roads and tracks, made it
improbable that any of Chalkin's men would have been able
to move, much less go the distance to the far-flung properties.
Benden Hold and Weyr became the latest winter victims as
the blizzards which had hovered over Bitra made their way
eastward, coating the eastern seaboard, even down into the
northern section of Nerat which hadn't seen any snow since
the settlement of the Bendens in the early decades of the First
Pass.
The dragons were the only living creatures who didn't mind
the snow, since their tough hide was impervious to its cold as
well as between. They muchly enjoyed the snow battles that
the weyrfolk indulged in, and then the warmth of sun
intensified by the white landscape so they lounged in reflected
glory.
Despite the more northerly position, Telgar Weyr got only
a handspan of snow and made do with that. The young
dragonets were fascinated by the stuff and by having to crack
the ice of the lake to bathe. Bathing a dragon had become
a hazard, but T'dam allowed the weyrlings to suds up a
dragonet and allow it to rinse itself off in the frigid water. But
daily washings resulted in some distress for the rider.
'I've chilblains again,' Debera complained to Iantine, show-

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ing him her swollen fingers when he came out to watch her
tend Morath.

217

The little green was a favourite subject of his because, he
told Debera, 'she has a tremendous range of expression on
her face and gets in the most incredible positions.'
Debera was far too besotted with her dragon to disagree
with such an impartial opinion. If she herself figured in every
sketch Iantine did, she did not wonder about it. But the other
green riders did.
'You should get some of Tisha's cream. It stopped my
fingers from itching,' he snapped his fingers, 'like that!'
'Oh, I have some of that,' she told him.
'Well, it doesn't do you any good in the jar, you know.'
'Yes, I know,' she said, ducking her head, her tone low and
apologetic.
'Hey, I'm not scolding,' he said gently, putting one finger
under her chin and lifting her head. 'What'd I do wrong?'
'Oh, nothing,' she replied and pushed his finger away,
giving him a too-bright smile. 'I get silly notions sometimes.
Don't pay me any mind.'
'Oh, I don't,' he replied so blithely that she gave him a
startled look. 'Just go on with lathering up that beast of yours
ú . .' He turned to a new page and removed the pencil from
behind his ear. 'Go on...'
'Iantine's gone on you, Debera,' Grasella said, eyeing her
barrack mate shrewdly.
'Iantine? He's sketch-mad. He'd do his big toe if he had
nothing else to pose for him,' Debera replied. 'Besides, he'll
leave soon for Benden...'
'Will you miss him?' Jule asked, a sly look on her face.
'Miss him?' Debera echoed, surprised at the question.
I will miss him, Morath said in such a mournful tone that
the other dragonets turned towards her, their eyes whirling
in minor distress.
'What did she say that's got them all upset?' Jule demanded.
'That she'd miss him. But, love, he's not Weyrbred,' Debera
told her dragon, stroking her cheek and then her head-knob.
'He can't stay here indefinitely.'
'If anyone asked me, I'd say Iantine would like to,' Sarra
put in.

218

'No-one's asked you,' Angie replied tartly.
'Has he ever done anything... I mean, beyond sketching
you, Deb?' Jule asked with an avid glint in her eyes.
'No, of course not. Why would he?' responded Debera,
annoyed and flustered. That was the trouble with having to
sleep with the others. They could be terribly nosy, even if they
weren't as mean as her stepmother and sisters had been. She
didn't pry into where they were when they were late in at
night.
'I give up on her,' said Jule, raising her hands skyward in
exasperation. 'The handsomest unattached man in the Weyr,
and she's blind.'

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'She's Morath-besotted,' Sarra put in. 'Not that any of us
are much better.'
'Most of us...' and Jule paused significantly, 'know that,
while dragons may now be a significant factor in our lives,
they are not everything, you know. Even old T'dam-damn-
him has a weyrmate, after all.'
'We don't have weyrs yet,' said Mesla, speaking for the first
time. She took everything literally. 'Couldn't have anyone in
here with you gawking.'
Debera knew she was blushing: her cheeks felt hot.
'That hasn't held you back, I noticed,' Sarra said to Jule,
cocking her head knowingly.
Jule smiled mysteriously. 'From the only Weyrbred resident
in this barracks, let me assure you that our wishes can
influence our dragons' choices.'
'They won't rise for another eight or ten months,' said
Angie, though she had obviously taken heed of Jule's remark.
'But, Jule, suppose your dragon fancies a dragon whose rider
you can't stand?'
'You mean, O'ney?' and she grinned at Angie's discomfort.
The girl overcame her embarrassment and snapped back
quickly enough. 'He's impossible, even for a bronze rider.
Have you ever heard him go on about how his wing is always
tops in competitions! As if that was all that mattered!'
'To him it probably is,' Grasella said, 'but, Jule, I'm more
worried about the blue riders. I mean, some of them are very

219

nice guys and I wouldn't want to hurt their feelings, but they
don't like girls.'
'Oh,' and Jule shrugged indolently, 'that's easier still. You
make an arrangement with another rider to be on hand when'
your green gets proddy. Then the blue rider gets his mate, if
he's got one, or anyone else who's willing - and you'd better
believe that anyone's willing when dragons are going to
participate. So you bed the one you like, and the blue rider
his choice, and you ALL enjoy!'
The girls absorbed this information with varying degrees of
enthusiasm or distaste.
'Well, it's up to yourselves what you do, you know,' Jule
went on. 'And we're not limited to this Weyr, either. Oh!' and
she let out a gusty sigh. 'I'11 be so glad when we can fly out
of here anytime we want.'
'But I thought you were arranging matters with T'red?'
Mesla said, her eyes wide with consternation.
'Well, so I am, but that doesn't mean I might not find
someone I like better at another Weyr. Greens like it, you
know.'
'Ah, but can we go to other Weyrs?' Sarra asked, waggling
a finger at Jule. 'In four-five months, we'll have Fall and then
we'll really work hard, ferrying firestone sacks to the fighters.'
Her eyes gleamed brightly in anticipation and she hugged
herself. 'We'll be doing something a lot more exciting than
having just one mate and plenty of kids.'
Debera averted her face, not wanting to take part in such
a ridiculous discussion.
Something bothers you, Morath said and slowly lowered her
head to her rider's lap. I love you. I think you're wonderful.

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Iantine does, too.
That confidence startled Debera. He does?
He does! And Morath's tone was emphatic. He likes your
green eyes, the way you walk, and the funny crackle in
your voice. How do you do that?
Debera's hand went to her throat and she felt re'ally silly
now.
Can you talk to him, too? Or just listen to what he's thinking?

22O

He thinks very loud. Especially near you. I don't hear him
too good far away. He thinks loud about you a lot.
'DEB'RA?' Sarra's loud call severed that most interesting
'conversation.
'What? I was talking to Morath. What did you say?'
'Never mind,' and Sarra grinned broadly. 'Have you got
your Turn's End dresses finished yet?'
'I've one more fitting,' Debera said, although that subject,
too, caused her embarrassment. She tried to argue with Tisha
that the beautiful green dress was quite enough; she didn't
need more. Tisha had ignored that and demanded that she
choose tWO colours from the samples available: one for
evening and another good one for daytime wear. Everyone
in the Weyr, it seemed, had new clothes for Turn's End. And
yet, something in Debera had delighted in knowing she'd have
two completely new dresses that no-one had ever worn before
her. She had, she admitted very very quietly to herself, hoped
that Iantine would notice her in them. Now, with Morath's
information, she wondered if he'd notice at all that she was
wearing new clothes.
'Speaking of weyrs,' Mesla said.
'That was half an hour ago, Mesla,' Angie protested. 'Well?'
'There aren't that many left and the bigger dragons would
have first choice, wouldn't they?' she went on.
'Don't worry,' Jule told her, 'some'11 come free by the time
we need them.' Then she covered her mouth, aware of what
she had just implied. 'I didn't mean that. I really didn't. I
mean, I wouldn't think of moving in...'
'Just shut. up, Jule,' Sarra said in a quiet but firm voice.
There was a long moment of silence, with no-one daring to
look at anyone.
'Say, who has the salve?' Grasella asked softly from the
bunk beyond her, breaking the almost intolerable silence. 'My
fingers are itching again. No-one told me I'd have to cope
with chilblains while dealing with dragons.'
Angie found it in her furs and passed it on.
'After you,' Debera said softly as she gave it to Grasella.
The easy laughing chatter was over for the night.

221

'I haven't had much time,' Jemmy told Clisser in his most
uncooperative tone of voice when Clisser asked how he was
coming on the last of the History Ballads. 'Had to look up all
that law stuff. Why'd you have to take so much trouble with
those fragging guards? They shoulda all been dropped on the
islands, right away. None of this trial farce.'

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'The trials were not farces, Jemmy,' said Clisser, so un-
characteristically reproving that Jemmy looked up in a state
of amazement. 'The trials were necessary. To prove that we
would not act in an arbitrary fashion...'
'You mean, the way Chalkin would have,' and Jemmy
grinned, his uneven teeth looking more vulpine than ever in
his long face. 'Exactly.'
'You're wasting too much time on him.' Jemmy turned back
to reading.
'What are you looking up?'
'I don't know. I'm looking because I know there's some-
thing we can use to check on the Red Planet's position...
something so simple I'm disgusted I can't call it to mind. I
know I've seen it somewhere . . .' Irritably he pushed the
volume away from him. 'It'd help a great deal if the people
who copied for us had had decent handwriting. I spend too
much time trying to decipher it.' Abruptly he reached across
the cluttered work-top to the windowsill and plonked down
in front of him a curious apparatus. "Here's your new
computer.' He grinned up at Clisser who regarded the object
- bright coloured beads strung on ten narrow rods, divided
into two unequal portions.
'What is it?' Clisser exclaimed, picking it up and finding
that the beads moved stiffly up and down on the rods.
'An abacus, they called it. A counter. Ancient and
still functional.' Jemmy took the device from Clisser and
demonstrated. 'It'll take the place of a calculator. Most are
down now. Oh, and I found the designs for this, too.' He
fumbled around his papers and withdrew an instrument
consisting of a ruler with a central sliding piece, both marked

222

with logarithmic scales. 'You can do quite complicated mathe-
matical calculations on this slide-rule, as they called it. Almost
as fast as you could type into a digital pad.'
Clisser looked from one to the other. 'So that's what a slide-
rule looks like. I saw one mentioned in a treatise on early
calculators but I never thought we'd have to resort to ancient
devices. And mention of an abacus, too, actually. You have
been busy reinventing alternatives.'
'And I'll find that other device, too, if you'll leave me alone
and don't dump more vitally important, urgent research on
me.'
'I'm hoping,' Clisser said at his most diplomatic, 'that you
can give me something to show before the Winter Solstice
and Turn's End.'
Jemmy shot straight up in his chair, cocked his head and
stared at Clisser so that Clisser leaned forward hopefully,
holding his breath lest he disrupt Jemmy's concentration.
'Fraggit,' and Jeremy collapsed again, beating his fists on
the table. 'It has to DO with Solstices.'
'Well, if you've gone back to abacii and slide-rules, why not
a sun-dial clock?' Clisser asked facetiously.
Jemmy sat up again, even straighter. 'Not a sun-dial,' he
said slowly, 'but a cosrnic clock... a star dial like... stone
... stone SOMETHING...'
'Stonehenge?'
'What was that?'

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'A prehistoric structure back on Earth. Sallisha can tell you
lots more about it if you'd care to ask her,' Clisser said slyly
and was rewarded by Jemmy's rude dismissal of the sugges-
tion. 'It turned out to be rather an astonishing calendar since
it accurately predicted eclipses as well as verifying Solstices
at dawn...'
Clisser stopped, looking wide-eyed at Jeremy whose mouth
had dropped open to form a soundless '0' as what he said
astounded them both.
'Only that was a stone circle . . . on a plain . . .' Clisser
stammered, gesturing dolmens and cross-beams. Muttering
under his breath, he strode across to the shelves, trying to

223

find the text he wanted. 'We must have copied it. We had to
have copied it...'
'Not necessarily since you've been on these relevant only
historical entries,' Jemmy contradicted him. 'I remember
accessing it once. It's only that we'll have to adapt it to fit our
needs, which is framing the Red Planet when the conjunction
is right.' He was scrabbling amongst the litter on his desk for
a clean sheet of paper and a pencil. The first three he found
were either stubs or broken. 'That's another thing we've got
to re-invent... fountain pens.'
'Fountain pens?' Clisser echoed. 'Never heard of fountain
pens.'
'I'11 do them tomorrow. Leave me to work this out but,'
and Jemmy paused long enough to grin diabolically up at
Clisser's befuddlement, 'I think I'll have something by Turn's
End. Maybe even a model... but only if you leave... now.'
Clisser left, closing the door quietly behind him and pausing
a moment.
'I do believe I've been kicked out of my own office,' he
said, pivoting to regard the door. His name, which had
recently been repainted, was centred in the upper panel.
'Hmm.' He turned the sign hung there on a nail to 'DO NOT
DISTURB' and walked away whistling the chorus from the
'Duty Song'.
He'd catch Sallisha before she climbed up the stairs to his
office. That would please her. Well, it might.
He hurried down the steps and met her coming in the door.
'I'm not late,' she said, at her most caustic, her arm
tightening convulsively on the bulging notebook she carried.
He was in for it.
'I didn't say you were. Let's take the more comfortable
option of the teachers' lounge.'
'My conclusions are not something you'll wish to discuss in
public,' she said, recoiling. She might be one of his best
teachers - though the rumour was that children learned their
lessons to get out of her clutches - but her attitude toward~
him, and his proposed revitalization programme, was totally
hostile.

224

~d to

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~nly
Iber
OUt'
~on
for
!nd
~ot

Clisser smiled as graciously as he could. 'It's empty right
now and will be for at least two hours.'
She sniffed but, when he courteously gestured for her to
precede him, she tramped on in an implacable fashion. Like
a Morinst to his... Clisser shuddered and hurriedly followed
her.
The lounge was empty, a good fire crackling on the hearth.
The klah pitcher rested on the warmer and there were, for a
change, clean cups. He wondered if Bethany had done the
housekeeping. The sweetener jar was even full. Yes, it would
have been Bethany, trying to ease this interview.
As he closed the door, he also turned the 'DO NOT
DISTURB' sign around and flipped the catch. Sallisha had
seated herself in the least comfortable chair - the woman
positively enjoyed being martyred. She still held the notebook,
like a precious artifact, across her chest.
'You cannot exclude Greek history from study,' she said,
aggressively launching into an obviously prepared speech.
'They've got to understand where our form of government
came from to appreciate what they have. You have to in-
clude...'
'Sallisha, the precedents can be covered in the outline, but
not the entire culture,' he began.
'But the culture determined the form of government...'
She stared at him, appalled by his lack of comprehension.
'If a student is curious enough to want to know more, we
shall have it to give him. But there is no point in forcing hill-
farmers and plains drovers to learn something which has
absolutely no relevance to their way of life.' 'You demean them by saying
that.'
'No, I save them hours of dull study by replacing it with
the history of Pern...'
'There is scarcely enough of that to dignify the word
"history".'
'Yesterday is history today, but do you want to repeat it?
ú "History" is what happened in the life or development of a
people... we,' and he tapped his chest, 'the Pernese. Also a
systematic account of us,' he tapped his chest again, 'with an

225

analysis and explanation. From... the beginning of the Pern
colony . . . that is history, grand and sweeping, surviving
against incredible odds and an implacable menace, derring-do,
ingenuity, courage, and OF this planet, not of a place that's
only a name. It's better than our ancient history - if it's taught
right.'
'Are you impugning my...'
'Never, Sallisha, which is why I particularly need your
complete cooperation for the new, enriched, relevant curric-
ulum. On average, your students rank higher in their final

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examination papers than any other teacher's . . . and that
includes the hill-farmers and the plains drovers. But they
never again use the information you imparted. Pern is difficult
enough... with an external menace to contend with... Let
them be proud of the accomplishments of their ancestors...
their most recent ancestors. Not the confused and tortured
mindlessness the Pern colonists left behind. Furthermore,' he
went on relentlessly as she opened her mouth to speak,
'the trials at Telgar and Benden have proved that not enough
time is spent teaching our people their rights under the
Charter...'
'But I spend...'
'You certainly have never been remiss, but we must em-
phasize,' and he slapped one fist into the other palm, 'holder
rights under their Lord: how to claim Charter acreage, how
to prevent what happened in Bitra...'
'No other Lord Holder is as wicked,' and her mouth twisted
with disgust as she enunciated the last word, 'as that awful
man. Don't think you can get me to teach there now Issony's
left!' She waggled her index finger at him and her expression
was fierce.
'Not you, Sallisha, you're far too valuable to waste on Bitra,'
he said, soothing her. Bitra would need a more compassionate
and flexible teacher than Sallisha. 'But I'm amazed at just how
many people were unaware of the Charter Rights. And that's
wrong. Not that I think the cowed folk up in Bitra would have
dared cite the clauses to him... even if they had known about
them. I mean, it was appalling to realize just how few people

226

who attended the trial KNEW that ordinary holders had the
RIGHT to freedom of movement, and lawful assembly, or to
appeal for mediation for crippling tithes.'
'Why haven't the Lord Holders impeached him?' she
wanted to know, her fierceness diverted towards a new victim.
'It's patently obvious he is unfit to manage a Hold, much less
one during a Fall. I cannot see why they have been waffling
about over the matter.'
'Sallisha, it takes a unanimous decision to impeach a Lord
Holder,' he said with a light admonishment.
She regarded him blankly for a moment. Then flushed.
'Who's holding out?' 'Jamson.'
She clicked her tongue irritably. 'And that's another place
you mustn't send me. The cold would exacerbate my joint
problem.'
'I'm aware of that, Sallisha, which is why I wondered if
you'd consider Nerat South this year?'
'How much travelling?' she demanded, but not unappeased.
'Six major holds and five smaller units, but all within
reasonable distance. And, of course, your journeys would fall
on Threadfree days. Excellent accommodations and a very
good contract. Gardner made sure that everything complies
with your wishes as regards conditions.' He reached into his
jerkin pocket and pulled out the document. 'I thought you
might like to see it today.'
'Sweetening me up, are you?' she said with an almost
coquettish smile, hand half outstretched to the sheets.
'You are my best teacher, Sallisha,' he told her and
extended his hand until her fingers closed around the contract.

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'This won't make me approve your butchery of pre-Pernese
history, Clisser.'
'It's not intended to, but we can't have you in danger on
the plains of Keroon...'
'I did promise to come back...'
'They will understand...'
'There are some really fine minds there...'
'You will find them wherever you go, Sallisha, you have

227

the knack.' Then he hauled out the larger sheaf of papers, the
new syllabus. 'You may find this much easier to impart to
your students.'
She eyed it as she would a tunnel snake.

228

High Reaches and Fort Holds

'So,' Paulin asked Thea and Gallian in the comfortably warm
High Reaches solarium where the High Reaches Lady Holder
received her guests, 'is there any way we can get him to change
his mind?'
Thea shrugged. 'Not by reasoned argument, that's for
certain. He was indignant that "a Lord Holder's right to deal
with his own folk" had been set aside for the two trials. Not
that he objected to the sentences...'
' "That was only right and just, and they should have been
sent to the Islands as well, for they'll only make trouble of a
different sort now,"' Gallian added, mimicking his father's
thin, wheezing voice. 'If he would only give me authorization
to deal with all Hold matters...' and he raised his hands in
helplessness. 'He's too sick...'
'Wait a minute. He is sick,' Paulin interrupted, 'and your
weather here is only aggravating the respiratory problem, isn't
it?'

229

Thea's eyes widened as she jumped to a conclusion.
'If he was sent to Ista or Nerat to recuperate, why he'd have
to authorize Gallian...' she began. 'Precisely...'
'What happens when he recovers and finds out what I did
knowing, as he's made sure I do, his views on impeachment,'
Gallian said, 'and finds out I've gone against him.9 I could
very likely lose my chance of succession.'
'That's not likely, dear. You know how he carries on about
your "stupid" younger brothers,' said Thea reassuringly,
laying a hand on her son's arm. 'You just know when to stand
up to him. You've always had a flair for dealing with people.
As for the nephews . . .' She threw up her hand in despair.
Then her face clouded. 'I really am worried about these
constant chest infections. Frankly, I don't think he's going to
last much longer.' She sighed in regret. 'He's been a good

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spouse...
'Can you get your medic to recommend the warmer
climate?' Paulin asked sympathetically.
'He's been doing so constantly,' Thea said, setting her
mouth in a firm line. 'I'll make it so. Somehow! ! couldn't live
with myself if I didn't. For his sake as well as those poor
wretches.'
GallJan looked uncertain.
'Don't worry, lad,' said Paulin. 'You've already got full
marks in my book for cooperation. And, as long as I'm Chair,
you've my support. The Conclave doesn't necessarily have to
abide by the deceased's wishes as to successor. But we've got
to take action no~v. Even waiting until Turn's End is danger-
ous. We rescued those people, their rights were upheld in a
duly assembled court, and Chalkin's in some state of mind
over that.' Paulin's laugh was mirthless. 'We can't let him take
his vengeance out on them, or we've spent a lot of time and
effort to no avail. With this thaw setting in, he'll be able to
move about. And I think we all have a good idea that he'll
retaliate in some fashion.'
Thea shuddered, her comfortably plump body rippling
under her thick gown. 'I won't have that on my conscience,

230

no matter what my Lord Jamson says.' She rose. 'Jamson
spent such a poor night, I'll catch him now, before he can put
up any more objections. One thing's certain, he doesn't want
to die. He likes Richud more than Franco. I'll suggest Ista
Hold. I wouldn't mind the winter there myself. In fact...'
and suddenly, she straightened her shoulders, 'I think I'm
gomig dowd wif a gold, too . . .' and she altered her voice
appropriately, sniffing. 'He might just humour me where he
wouldn't do a thing for himself. If you'll excuse me.'?'
Both men had stood when she did, and now Gallian strode
to open the door for her as she sailed gracefully out, grinning
mischievously as she left. Gallian returned to his guest,
shaking his head.
'I've never gone against my father before,' he said
anxiously, his expression unhappy.
'Nor would I urge you to do so, lad. I appreciate your
doubts, but can you doubt what Chalkin will do.'?'
'No, I can't,' and Gallian sighed, turning back to the Fort
Lord Holder with a resolute expression. 'I suppose I should
get accustomed to making decisions, not merely carrying them
out.'
Paulin clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly.
'That's it exactly, Gallian. And I'll guarantee, not all the
decisions you'll be called upon to make will be the right ones.
Being a Lord Holder doesn't keep you from making mistakes:
just make the right wrong ones!' Paulin grinned as Gallian
tried to absorb that notion. 'If you are right most of the time,
you're ahead of the game. And you're right in this one for
the good reasons which your father declines to see.'
Gallian nodded his head. Then he asked more briskly, 'Will
you have some wine now, Paulin?'
'You've your mother's way with you,' Paulin said, accepting

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the offer. 'Which you will find is an advantage... Not, mind
you, that I in any way imply a lack in your father's manners.'
'No, of course not,' Gallian agreed but he smiled briefly,
then cleared his throat. 'Ah, what happens to Chalkin when
he's removed? I mean, it's not as if he could be dropped on
the southern islands, is it?'

231

'Why not.9' Paulin replied equably. 'Not,' he added hastily
when he saw Gallian's consternation, 'that he would be placed
on the same one as the murderers. There is a whole chain ...
an archipelago of them...' 'Aren't they volcanic?'
'Only Young Island, otherwise they're tropical and quite
habitable. But one is certain then that the... ah... detainee
cannot leave and cause ructions. Which Chalkin would
certainly do if he was allowed to remain on the Mainland. No,
the most sensible and most humane solution is to put him
where he can't do any more harm than he's already done.'
'Then who's to take over managing BitraT
'His children are too young, certainly, but there's an uncle,
not much older than Chalkin at that. I heard a rumour though
that Vergerin and Chalkin had played a game, the stakes
being an uncontested succession.'
'My father mentioned that, too, early on when impeachment
first came up. Said he ought to have insisted that Vergerin
stand in spite of what the old Neratian Lord wanted. Chalkin's
spouse is Franco's sister, you know.'
'I'd forgotten that. Amazing,' Paulin added. 'Franco's
totally different, but then his mother was Brenton's first
spouse.'
They were discussing the ever-interesting problem of
heredity when the door suddenly opened and Thea came in,
almost bent double.
'Great Stars, mother!' Gallian rushed to assist her. 'Why,
what's the matter? You're so flushed...'
She slammed the door shut, waved aside her son's help and
collapsed in her chair with laughter. 'What's so funny?'
'Oh, your father, dear...' She wiped tears from her cheeks
and some of the 'flush' came away, too. She looked at the
handkerchief and rubbed her cheeks more vigorously, still
laughing. 'We did it! He's going to the warm. I left him writing
to ask for Richud's hospitality. I said I'd have the message
pennon flown, but your rider would take it, wouldn't he,
Paulin? When he takes you back to Fort?'

232

'Indeed, he will... or rather I'll take it to Richud myself
and ask him to connive with us to keep Jamson from knowing
what's happening off the island,' said Paulin, grinning with
reliefi
'But why are you laughing, Mother? And why the face
paint ...' Gallian demanded.
'Well,' and she flitted her handkerchief, beaming at the two.
'What he wouldn't do for himself, he'd do for his ailing mate,'
she said, again assuming a stuffed-nose voice. 'So first I had

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your sister go in and fetch Canell, as if there were an
emergency. I primed Canell to back me up, and it was he who
suggested the rouge. So when I came into your father's room,
I arrived moaning over my aches and pains which had
developed so rapidly overnight. And sneezing constantly...
fortunately, I have a small sneeze so I can imitate it... Then
Canell took over - really, the man was quite convincing. He
got alarmed over my rapid pulse and flushed face. He made
much of worrying about the condition of my lungs and the
strain on my heart. So between us, why, Jamson agreed to
take me south to Ista until I'm completely recovered. So
there!' She beamed from one to the other, quite delighted.
'Mother! You are the living end.'
'Of course,' she said patronizingly. Then she surprised both
men by sneezing. 'Oh, good heavens!'
'Hmmm,' said Gallian with mock severity, 'that's what
happens when you tell stories. You get what you pretended
you had.'
'He's sent someone looking for you, too. So...'
There was a polite tap at the door. Gallian went immedi-
ately to answer it, opening only wide enough to be seen.
'Yes, tell Lord Jamson that I'll be there directly.'
'I'll wait with Lord Paulin until you can get the letter, Galli,'
she said, pouring herself some wine. 'This is to fortify myself
against my cold and any relapse I might have taken . . .
Another small glass for yourself, Paulin? To toast my debut
as an actress?'
'I wish you'd thought of that ploy earlier.'
'So do I,' she said with a little sigh. 'But I hadn't such an

233

overwhelming need to before. Those poor people! Who will
take over from Chalkin once you get him out? And what
will happen to him, for that matter?' 'That has to be decided.'
'We were just discussing that, Mother,' Gallian said.
'There's Vergerin, the uncle on the father's side.'
'But Vergerin gambled his succession rights away,' Thea
said sternly.
'You heard that, too?' Paulin asked.
'Well, you know that Bloodline,' Thea said. 'Always
gambling. On the most ridiculous things, too, and for the most
bizarre wagers. But to gamble on the succession?' Her
expression showed her disgust over that wager.
'Perhaps Vergerin learned a lesson,' Gallian remarked - a
trifle condescendingly, Paulin thought.
'Perhaps,' Paulin said. 'If we find him alive.'
'Oh, no!' Thea's hand went to her throat in dismay.
'If the Council votes to impeach...'
'Not if, Gallian, when,' said Paulin, raising his hand in
correction.
'When they do, how do they go about getting Chalkin out
of Bitra Hold?' Gallian asked.
'I think that will require thought and planning,' Paulin
replied. 'But go now and see your father, GallJan. Mustn't
keep him waiting. He might change his mind.'
'Not when Mother's health is at stake,' Gallian said and,
with a final grin, he left the room.
'Promise me, Paulin, that Gallian's chance at succession

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won't suffer because of this?' asked Thea, earnestly gripping
his arm.
'! do promise, Thea,' he said, patting her hand.

Four days later, when Lord Jamson and Lady Thea had been
safely conveyed to Ista Hold, the rest of the Lords, Ladies
Holder and the Weyrleaders convened an emergency meeting
at Telgar Hold and formally impeached Lord Chalkin for
dereliction of his duties and responsibilities to Benden Weyr,

for the cruel and unusual punishment of innocent holders
(Iantine's drawings were submitted as well as the proceedings
of the recent trials), for refusing to allow the Charter to be
taught so that all would know their rights as well as their
responsibility (Issony gave testimony on that account) and for
denying these rights to his holders without due reason.
Gallian soberly voted 'Yea' in his turn, having duly ex-
hibited his authorization to act in all matters concerning High
Reaches Hold.
'So, now what do we do?' Tashvi asked, clasping his hands
together with an air of relief at a difficult decision completed.
'Obviously, we inform Chalkin and remove him,' Paulin
said.
'No other trial?' GallJan asked, startled.
'He just had it,' said Paulin. 'Judge and jury of his peers.'
'It would be against all precedent to employ dragonriders
to effect his removal,' S'nan stated flatly.
Everyone turned to the Fort Weyrleader, showing varying
degrees of surprise, disgust, anger or incredulity at such a
fatuous statement.
'Impeachment is also against all precedent, too, S'nan,'
M'shall said, 'because this is the first time that Clause has
been invoked since it was written two-hundred and fifty-odd
years ago. But it's now a matter of record. However, I disagree
that the dragonriders should bow out. Fraggit, S'nan, one of
the main reasons for getting rid of him is that he has not
helped to prepare his Hold which we are honour bound to
protect. I'll drag him out of there myself if need be.'
Irene beside him nodded vehemently in his support and
then glared at S'nan. Sarai, S'nan's Weyrwoman, regarded
Irene in horrified dismay.
'If you don't grab him first, he'll just flit out of that warren
of a Hold of his, and who knows what he might do then?'
Irene said. Then she blinked and cocked her head, puzzled.
'You know, I don't know enough about the interior lay-out
of Bitra Hold to know where to find him, much less grab him
with all those bodyguards he has around him. Franco?'
'What?' The Nerat Lord Holder responded nervously. 'I

235

can't tell you what Bitra's like. I've never been in more than
the reception rooms even if Nadona is my sister.' 'How curious,' Bastom
remarked.
'What will we do when we do get him out?' Franco asked.
'Who's to Hold? Those kids of his are too young.' 'The uncle, Vergerin...'
Paulin began.
'What about a regency 'til they're of age?' Azury suggested,
cutting across the Fort Lord's beginning.

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'Or a promising younger son from a well-conducted Hold?'
Richud of Ista asked, looking about brightly.
'We know the Bloodline's tainted with the gambling addic-
tion,' put in Bridgely.
'That trait can be remedied by strict discipline and a good
education,' Salda of Telgar said firmly. 'As the seed is sown,
so will it ripen.'
'Vergerin . . .' Paulin said again, raising his voice to be
heard above the various arguments.
'Him? He gambled his rights away...' Sarai of Fort Weyr
said at her most severe.
'Chalkin cheated . . .' said M'shall. 'He did in every
high-stake game I ever heard of.'
Irene gave him a very thoughtful stare.
'So I heard!' M'shall repeated.
'VERGERIN,' and Paulin roared the word, stunning every-
one into silence, 'must be considered first, since he is of the
Bloodline. That's a stipulation of the Charter which I intend
to follow to the letter. He is missing from the property where
he had quietly resided since Chalkin took Hold.'
'Missing?'
'Chalkin do it?'
'Where? Why?'
'Vergerin would have had training from his brother in
Hold management,' Paulin continued, 'and I believe that the
records state that Kinver was a capable and fair Lord Holder.'
'He gambled, too,' Irene remarked in an undertone.
'But he didn't cheat,' M'shall said, giving his Weyrmate a
stern look.
'We all adhere, do we not,' Paulin went on, 'to the Charter

236

Inheritance Clause which stipulates that a member of the
Bloodline must be considered first? Now, if Vergerin is
available...'
'And willing...' M'shall added.
'And able,' G'don of the High Reaches Weyr amended in
a firm voice.
'Able and willing,' Paulin echoed, 'we would then be
following the Charter...'
'We've set one precedent today,' Bastom said. 'Why not
give Bitra a break and put in someone trained and competent?
Especially since there's so much to be done to get that Hold
cleared for the spring action.'
'Good point. How about a team? Give some young, eager
scions some practice in day-to-day management?' Tashvi
suggested.
'All those with younger sons and daughters available for
the job, raise your hands,' said M'shall, not quite as facetiously
as he sounded.
'No, you have to replace Chalkin with a member of the
Bloodline,' S'nan said loudly, pounding the table with both
fists.
'Then it has to be Vergerin.'
'If we can find him ...'
'ORDER! ORDER!' and Paulin banged his gavel forcefully
until silence prevailed. 'There! Now, we can think again. First,
we must remove Chalkin...'

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'What good does that do if we've no-one to put in authority
in a Hold that will be totally demoralized to find itself
leaderless?' S'nan asked, so incensed that he was speaking
faster than anyone had ever heard him talk.
'Ah, but we put in a new Holder so quickly no-one will
have time to become demoralized,' Tashvi said.
'I suspect that we will,' Paulin said. 'Vergerin is not in his
known holding, and indeed the place looks to have been
deserted for some length of time.'
S'nan was aghast. 'Chalkin has removed him?'
'Probably to that cold storage he's said to have in his lower
levels,' M'shall said grimly.

237

'He couldn't have.' One would think from S'nan's distressed
expression that this latest evidence of Chalkin's complicity
and dishonour was his final disillusionment. Sarai leaned over
to pat his hand soothingly.
'We do not know that such suspicions are any more than
that,' Paulin said tactfully. 'So, let us all be calm for a moment.
Chalkin must be removed...'
'What do you do with him then?' asked S'nan in a shaking
voice.
'Exile him,' said Paulin, glancing around the table and
receiving complete agreement with that decision. 'That's the
safest measure, and also the kindest. There are so many
islands in that archipelago that he can have one all his own.'
Others chuckled at Paulin's droll tone.
'Yes, that would be fitting and proper,' the Fort Weyrleader
agreed, brightening somewhat from his gloom.
'We find Vergerin . . .' When others started to interrupt
Paulin once more, he cracked the gavel hard. 'And to
start preparing the Hold for Thread and reassuring the
holders right now, each of you will send a member of your
family: one already competent in hold management. It's going
to take a lot of work and time to get Bitra prepared. Too
much responsibility for just one man or woman. If we
find Vergerin and he's willing, he would in any case need
assistants.'
There was considerable murmuring at that, but the notion
seemed to please all: even S'nan.
'We're back again to removing Chalkin,' M'shall said. 'And
Bitra has more exits than a snake tunnel. If Chalkin suspects
what we've just done, he'll make a break for it.'
'Well, he can't! He's been impeached,' S'nan said.
'He doesn't know that yet, S'nan,' D'miel of Ista Weyr
pointed out, his tone tetchy.
'Considering how often he kno~vs things he shouldn't,'
B'nurrin of Igen Weyr said, 'we ought to do it, now! He
mightn't suspect me of anything devious,' the young bronze
rider added, grinning around the table. 'I barely know the
man. I'll volunteer.'

238

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'At the moment, I don't think any dragonriders are wel-
come at Bitra Hold,' said Bridgely with a cynical lift of one
eyebrow.
'You may be right,' Irene said, 'but only a dragonrider could
get into Bitra easily right now. All the roads are snowbound.
So it has to be one of us. I'll go.'
'No, you won't,' M'shall said firmly. 'I don't want you
anywhere near that lecher.'
'Ah, but I could transport others in, and drop them off
quietly. He wouldn't be quite so upset at a queenrider
coming.' Irene gave a nasty chuckle. 'He doesn't consider us
dangerous, you know.' She winked at Zulaya.
'If the snow's so bad at Bitra, where could he escape to
anyhow?' Zulaya wanted to know.
'A good point, but he could also hide within the Hold and
impede progress when our deputies try to get things working
again,' said Bastom.
'Iantine was there for several weeks,' Zulaya said. 'Maybe
he would know more about Bitra's levels and exits.'
'Issony's been in and out for the past few years as teacher,'
M'shall said as he rose. 'They're both still outside, aren't they?
I'll just bring them in.'
When the problem was explained to Iantine and Issony,
they both hauled out writing implements, but it was Iantine
who had paper.
'I did some explorations on my own,' Iantine said, blocking
out an irregular figure on the clean sheet.
'He didn't catch you?' Issony asked, his eyes on Iantine's
fingers as the interior levels of Bitra were delineated in swift,
sure strokes.
'I had a perfect excuse - I got lost. He lodged me down
on the scullery level when I first got there,' Iantine ex-
plained.
Issony looked surprised. 'Didn't anyone warn you about
his contracts?'
'Yes, but not strongly enough. I learned!'
'I could never do this!' Issony said in admiration. 'And
you've got the dimensions right, too.'

239

'Master Domaize insisted that we learn the rudiments of
architectural draughting,' the young portraitist said.
'There's another level,' Issony put in, tapping the right-hand
corner of the paper. 'You were lucky not to visit it.' He gave
a snort. 'Chalkin calls it his cold storage.' The teacher glanced
around the table. 'A lot of small cubicles, some horizontal,
some vertical; and none of them long enough or wide enough
for the poor blighters shoved in 'em.'
'You can't be serious?' S'nan's eyes protruded in dismay.
'Never more,' Issony said. 'One of the kitchen girls spilled
a tub of sweetener and she was immured for a week. She died
of the damp cold of the place.' Then, as Iantine's pencil
slowed, 'There're steps down from his rooms here. They come
out in the kitchen. He's always complaining that delicacies
disappear from storage, but I know for a fact he's the one
snitching.' Issony grinned. 'I was trying to get some food
one night and he nearly caught me at it.'
'There's an upper level over this section,' Iantine said, his

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pencil poised. 'But the door was padlocked.'
'Supposedly due to subsidence,' said Issony with a bit of a
snort. 'But there wasn't as much dust in the hall as usual in
his back corridors. I think it could be an access to the panel
heights.'
'We'll have a dragon up there, too,' Paulin said. He wasn't
the only one to stand behind the artist to watch him work.
'Quite a warren. Glad you looked about you when you were
there, Iantine.' He patted the young man's shoulder in
approval. 'So how many... ah... discreet exits are there?'
'I know of nine, besides the front one and the kitchen door,'
Issony said as he pointed out the locations.
Paulin rubbed his hands together and, waving everyone to
resume their seats at the table, stood for a long moment
looking at the floor plan.
'So, let us not waste time and let us agree on the... ah
ú.. strategy here and now. Irene, I appreciate your willingness
to be bait, but let us use surprise instead. Issony, Iantine, when
would the Hold be at its most vulnerable?'
The two men exchanged glances. Issony shrugged. 'Early

240

morning, about four-five o'clock. Even the watchwher's
getting tired. Most of the guards would be asleep.' He glanced
towards Iantine who nodded.
'So, we will need dragonriders...'
'Let's stick to those of us in this room if we can,' M'shall
suggested.
'It's totally improper to hound a man in his own Hold,'
began S'nan, starting to rise from his seat.
G'don of High Reaches, seated just beyond him, pulled his
arm to reseat him.
'Give over, S'nan,' he said wearily.
'You're excused from the force, S'nan,' Paulin told him,
equally exasperated. 'But... but...'
Even his Weyrmate shushed him.
'There're more than enough of us quite willing,' said
Shanna of Igen with a withering glance at the dismayed Fort
Weyrleader.
'Good. Then we'll cover all the exits...'
'There's one window in the kitchen that they always forget
to lock,' Iantine said, 'and I don't think they ever feed the
watchwher enough. He's all bones. Something juicy might
occupy him. And I think the window's beyond his chain's
reach.'
'Good points, Iantine,' said Paulin. 'Through the window,
then, and we'll infiltrate immediately up to Chalkin's private
quarters through the back stairs.'
'The hidden door's the panel next to the spice cupboard.
If you take me along, I can find it in a jiffy,' Issony suggested,
his eyes bright with anticipation.
'If you're willing...' Paulin' said.
'I am, too,' Iantine added.
'I rather thought you might be,' said Paulin, and then
rapidly issued the details of the plan.
With the exception of S'nan, all the Weyrleaders were
involved and even young Gallian was persuaded to come.
'! might as well be hanged for the sheep as the lamb,' he

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said with a fatalistic shrug.

241

'You'll not suffer from this day's work, Gallian,' Bastom
assured him. 'It's a unanimous decision and our presence
there will make that plain to Chalkin. He has no allies among
us,' the Tillek Lord said, with a reproving glance at S'nan who
sat with face set in such a mournful expression that Bastom
was nearly sorry for the punctilious Weyrleader.
'So we are agreed, Lords, Ladies and Leaders?' Paulin said
when he was sure everyone had grasped their roles in the
deposition. 'Then let us refresh ourselves and rest until it's
time to depart.'

242

Bitra Hold and Telgar Weyr

Except for the fact that the watchwher did not succumb to the
choice bits of meat brought to lure it from its duty and M'shall
had to have Craigath speak sharply to it, entry was obtained.
Whoever should have heard the watchwher's one bellow did
not. Issony had no trouble entering by the unlocked window
and opening the kitchen door to that contingent. Those
who were assigned to watch the various other exits from the
Hold were by then in place. Iantine sped through the kitchen
and up into the main reception rooms where he opened the
front entrance and the rest of the group entered. Meanwhile,
Issony had found the hidden door in the kitchen. Although
the stairway was lit by dying glows, there was enough
illumination for Paulin and the 'arresting' Lords, Ladies and
Leaders.
Paulin opened the access door at the top and entered
Chalkin's private apartments first. Behind him came eight
Lords and Ladies Holder and M'shall, who insisted on

243

representing the Weyrs. To their surprise, the room was
brightly lit, glows shining from wall sconces so that the
sleeping figures in the massive fur-covered bed were quite
visible. All three of them... Chalkin's portly frame bulked
the largest under the sleeping furs, though his head was
covered by a fold of the fine white bedsheet.
One of the girls woke first. She opened her mouth to
scream, but did not when she saw Paulin's abrupt gesture for
silence. Instead, she slithered across the mattress, sheet held
up to her chin, to the edge of the bed and grabbed a discarded
dress from the pile on the floor. Paulin indicated that she
could clothe herself. As smoothly as she moved, or perhaps
because she had the sheet up to her chin and let in cold air,
the other girl was awakened. She did scream.
'As loud as a green in season,' M'shall said later, chuckling
at the memory. 'At that, Chalkin didn't rouse.'

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His guards had been alerted though and charged into the
room, to be flabbergasted by the sight of so many armed folk
in Chalkin's most private apartment.
'Chalkin has been impeached for failure to prepare this
Hold for Threadfall, for abuse of his privilege as Lord Holder
and for denying his holders their Charter-given rights,' Paulin
said in a loud voice, sword drawn. 'Unless you wish to join
him in his exile, put up your weapons.'
To a man, they did just that as the reinforcements, led by
Iantine, burst in from the hall. That was what finally roused
Chalkin from a drunken sleep.
Later Paulin remarked that he'd been disappointed at such
an anti-climactic outcome of their dawn invasion.
'S'nan will be reassured,' K'vin said. 'I think he was certain
we intended to humiliate Chalkin.'
'We have,' Tashvi said with a chuckle.
Lady Nadona, though she took a strong case of hysterics -
Irene took some pleasure in applying the slaps that cut her
histrionics short - decided that she could not leave her darling
children to the mercies of unfeeling men and women, and
would sacrifice herself to remain behind while Chalkin went
into exile. She was exceedingly well acquainted with her own

rights as granted by the Charter, down to the Clause and
relevant sub-paragraphs.
Chalkin showed every fibre of his cowardice, trying to bribe
one Lord Holder after another, with hints of unusual treasure
if they assisted him. If anyone had been in the least bit
tempted, their resolve was strengthened when the broken,
shivering wrecks were released from 'cold storage'.
'The place was full,' Issony said, looking shattered by what
he had seen on that level. 'Border guards, most of them, but
they didn't deserve that from Chalkin!'
Even the hardiest of them would bear the marks of their
incarceration for the rest of their lives.
'Iantine? Did you bring... ah, you did. Do a quick sketch
of them, will you?' Issony asked, pointing to the two so close
to death: the two who had been castrated for rape. All that
could be done for them was to ease their passing with fellis
juice. 'To show S'nan. In case he has lingering doubts as to
the justice of what was done here today.'
'Any sign of Vergerin?' Paulin asked when all the cells had
been emptied.
'No,' M'shall said grimly. 'That shouldn't reassure you any.'
He jerked his thumb at some of the stretcher-bearers who had
previously been the 'cold storage' guards. 'They said there
were four dead ones who were slipped into the limepits day
before yesterday. We may have moved too late for Vergerin.'
Paulin cursed under his breath. 'Did you ask if any had
heard the name?'
M'shall grunted. 'No-one down there had a name.'
Paulin winced. 'We'd best send for the Holder team.'
'I have dispatched riders to collect the deputies already.
They should be here...'
There was a commotion in the Hall, with cheering and
shouts of welcome.
'They can't have got here this soon,' M'shall said, surprised.
Both men went to investigate.
A tall man was shrugging out of thin and dirty furs and

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smiling at the riders clapping him on the back or whatever
part of him they could touch.

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'Guess who just walked in?' B'nurrin of Igen cried, seeing
Paulin and M'shall.
'Vergerin?' Paulin asked.
'Optimist,' M'shall muttered, and then, taking a second hard
look at the face no longer hidden by a big furred hat,
exclaimed, 'It is!'
'It is?' Paulin hastened across the broad Hall.
'Has the family eyebrows,' M'shall said with a chuckle.
'Where've you been hiding, Vergerin?'
'M'shall?' Vergerin peered around, a hopeful smile break-
ing across his weather-beaten face. Fie did bear a facial
resemblance to Chalkin; as if Chalkin's features had been
elongated and refined. 'You don't know how glad I was to
see all those dragons on the heights. I figured you had to come
to your senses and get rid of him...' He jerked his thumb
ceilingward. 'You've no idea...'
'Where did you hide? When did you hide?' Paulin asked,
clasping Vergerin's hand and shaking it enthusiastically.
Vergerin's grin turned wry. 'I figured the safest place was
under Chalkin's nose.' He gestured in the general direction
of the cotholds. 'He houses his beasts better than his folk, so
the smell of me is at least clean horse manure. I've been
earning my keep at the beasthold.'
'But your holding has been empty...'
'By my design, I assure you,' Vergerin said, running a
grubby hand through greasy hair and smiling apologetically.
'I've a strong survival streak, my Lords Holder, and when I
realized my nephew really was not going to do a single thing
about the imminence of Thread, I thought I had better
disappear before he thought of possible retaliation . . . and
me as his only too obvious replacement.'
He had unwound the layers that clothed him and stood with
a quiet dignity in the midst of the warmly-dressed riders and
Lord Holders. It was that innate dignity which impressed
Paulin. Nor was he alone in noticing it.
'Admittedly, my Blood claim to the Hold was squandered
foolishly - but then, I should have known that Chalkin was
likely to cheat that night, if ever, with such stakes. It took me

246

quite some while to figure out how he managed it, for I'm not
without knowing a few tricks myself, and most of those that
can be played on the unwary.' He gave a self-deprecating little
smile. 'I forgot just how hungry Chalkin was for a Lord
Holder's power.'
'But you kept your promises,' Paulin said, nodding
approval.
'The least I could do to restore self-esteem,' and Vergerin
executed a little bow to Paulin and the others.
'Dare I hope that you wish to keep this Bloodline in Bitra
Hold?' He cocked one of his heavy dark eyebrows, his glance
candid and accepting.

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Paulin did a quick check of the expressions on the faces
of the other four Lord Holders who had arrived on the
scene.
'You will certainly be considered by the Conclave when it
meets at Turn's End,' Paulin said, nodding. The others
murmured agreement.
Loud protestations of innocence suddenly broke up the
tableau as Chalkin, bracketed by Bastom and Bridgely, was
walked down the main stairs. The tears of his wife and the
frightened shrieks of his children added to the tumult.
At the last landing, Chalkin halted, wrenching his arms free
from the two Lords as he flung himself down the stairs at
Vergerin.
'You! YOU! You betrayed me! You broke your word! You
did it. You did it all!'
Bastom and Bridgely, moving with creditable speed,
managed to recapture Chalkin and restrained him from
physically attacking Vergerin, who did not so much as recoil
from his nephew.
'You did it to me. You did it all,' Chalkin said and shrieked
louder than his children when Vergerin, with an expres-
sionless face, slowly pivoted away from him.
Then Lady Nadona saw Vergerin and her cries turned
raucous with hatred.
'You've taken my husband and now you stand there to take
my Hold, my children's inheritance... Oh, Franco, how can

247

you let them do this to your sister?' She fell against the
Neratian's chest.
Franco's expression was far from repentant as he quickly
unwound her plump arms from his neck with the help of
Zulaya and the Istan Laura. Nadona was still in her nightdress,
with a robe half-closed over the thin garment. Richud had the
two boys by the arm, and his spouse the two weeping little
girls who certainly didn't understand what was happening but
were hysterical because their mother was.
Paulin took Vergerin by the arm and led him towards
the nearest door, which turned out to be Chalkin's office.
Decanters and glasses were part of the appointments and
Paulin hurriedly poured two glasses. Vergerin took his and
drank it down, the draught restoring some colour to his face.
He exhaled deeply.
Paulin, impressed by the man's control in a difficult situ-
ation, clapped his shoulder and gripped it firmly. 'It can't have been easy,'
he said.
Vergerin murmured, then straightened himself. 'What was
hardest,' and his smile was wry, 'was knowing what a con-
summate idiot I had been. One can forgive almost anything
except one's own stupidities.'
Despite the thick stone walls the screams and bellows
continued, the sound altering slightly as Chalkin was hauled
out of the Hold and down the courtyard steps.
Lady Nadona's shrieks became earsplitting and then
abruptly ceased, at which Paulin let out a sigh of relief. Irene
might have knocked her out but she'd probably fainted. Either
way the silence was welcome.
More shouting and confused orders! With an exasperated

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sigh, Paulin went to the shuttered window and threw it open
on the most extraordinary scene: five men struggling to lift
Chalkin to Craigath's back while the dragon, eyes whirling
violently with red and orange, craned his neck about to see
what was happening. Abruptly Chalkin's body relaxed and
was shoved into position on Craigath's neck. M'shall leaped
to his back and waited while two other Weyrmen roped
Chalkin to M'shall and then added the collection of sacks

248

and bags which would accompany the former Lord Holder
into exile.
Craigath took off with a mighty bound and brought his wide
wings down only once before he disappeared between.
'An island exile?' Vergerin asked, pouring himself another
glass of wine.
'Yes, but not the same one we sent the guards to. Fortu-
nately, there's a whole string of them.'
'Young Island would be the safest one,' Vergerin said dryly,
sipping the wine. Then he made a face, looking down at the
glass. 'Wherever does he get his wines?'
Paulin smothered a laugh. 'He's got no palate at all. Or did
you like the idea of your nephew on an active volcanic island?'
'He's quick-witted enough to survive even that. Does
Nadona stay on?'
'Her children are young, but you would be perfectly within
your rights to relegate her to a secluded apartment and take
over the education and discipline of the children.' Vergerin gave a shudder
of revulsion.
'Oh, there might be something worth saving in them, you
know,' Paulin said magnanimously.
'In Chalkin and Nadona's get.9 Unlikely.' Then Vergerin
walked to the cabinet where Hold records should be kept and,
on the point of opening the doors, turned back to Paulin.
'Should I start right in? Or wait for the Conclave's decision?'
'Since we didn't know whether or not you had escaped
Chalkin's grasp, we decided to let competent younger sons
and daughters see what order they could contrive. However,
since you would know a lot more about this Hold than they
could, would you take overall charge?'
Vergerin now exhaled and a smile of intense relief lit his
features. 'Considering what I know of the state of this Hold
and the demoralization of its holders, I'll need every bit of
assistance I can muster.' He shook his head. 'I don't say my
late brother was the best Holder in Pern, but he would never
have countenanced the neglect much less Chalkin's ridiculous
notion that Thread couldn't return because it would reduce
the gaming he could do.'

2,~9

There was a polite rap on the door and when Paulin
answered, Irene poked her head in.
'We managed to get the kitchen staff to prepare some food.
I can't vouch for more than that the klah is hot and the bread
fresh made.'
Vergerin looked down at himself. 'I couldn't possibly eat

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anything until I've washed.'
Irene grinned. 'I thought of that and had a room, and a
bath, prepared for you. Even some clean clothing.'
'Fresh bread and good hot klah will go down a treat,'
said Paulin, gesturing for Vergerin to precede him out of the
room.
'No, my Lord Holder, after you,' Vergerin said with a
courtly gesture.
'Ah, but my soon-to-be Lord Holder, after you...'
'I didn't realize I smelled that bad,' Vergerin said ruefully
and led the way out.
He was looking about him now, Paulin noticed, as if
assessing the condition of the place. He stopped so short
that Paulin nearly bounced off him. Pointing to the inner
wall where Chalkin's portrait by Iantine was ostentatiously
illuminated, he pivoted, eyes wide, his expression incredulous.
'My nephew... never... looked . . . like that,' he said,
laughter rippling through his tone.
Paulin chuckled, too, having his first good look at the
representation. 'I believe it took the artist some time to paint
a... satisfactory portrait of your nephew.'
'With so little to work on... but I can't have that hanging
there,' Vergerin exclaimed. 'It's... it's... '
'Ludicrous?' Paulin suggested. Poor Iantine, to have had to
prostitute his abilities to create that! 'That will do for starters.'
Paulin leaned close to Vergerin, trying not to inhale because
the warmth of the Hall was increasing the pong of manure
emanating from Vergerin's clothing.
'I don't think you'll hurt the artist's feelings by removing it
from such a prominent place.'
'Would he consider repainting it to a closer likeness to the

250

model?' Vergerin asked. 'That would remind me of my
youthful follies as well as how not to manage a Hold.'
'Iantine's here - helped us get in, in fact. You can ask him
yourself.'
'AJ~er I've had that bath,' Vergerin said and continued on
his way to the stairs and cleanliness.

Younger sons and daughters were conveyed in from every
major Hold, dressed and prepared to work hard. If some were
disappointed that Vergerin had been found, they hid it well
which did them no disservice. By the time a substantial
breakfast had been served, Vergerin had had a chance to
speak to each of the eight young folk and decide what areas
of responsibility they should assume.
Irene put a wing of Benden riders at Vergerin's disposition
to use in contacting the larger holdings in Bitra and announc-
ing Chalkin's impeachment and exile.
By then M'shall had returned. 'I dumped him... and his
packages, on Island 32. You'll need to know that for the
records. It's rather a nice place. Too bad he gets it.'
'Did you have any trouble with him?' Paulin asked.
M'shall looked amused as he unbuckled his flight gear.
'With the wallop Bastom gave him? He was still unconscious
when I left him. Near a stream.' M'shall made a face. 'I should
have dumped him in it. Serve him right for what he did to

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those he had in cold storage.'
By mid-morning matters seemed to be in Vergerin's com-
plete control and the Council members felt able to leave Bitra
Hold.
Iantine begged a ride from K'vin for himself and Chalkin's
portrait.
'When are you coming to Benden Hold?' Bridgely wanted
to know, catching the young portraitist coming down the
courtyard steps.
'Lord Bridgely, I am sorry not to be ready quite yet,' Iantine
said.
Bridgely jabbed his finger at the painting. 'You're not

251

letting that take precedent, are you?' And he scowled.
'No, never,' Iantine said, recoiling slightly. Then he grinned.
'Not that it will take me long to change the face on it. But it's
last on my list. I've to finish K'vin's portrait, and a few more
of the Telgar riders, and then I'll come. I can probably make
it after Turn's End.'
'Well, I'll give you until then, young man, but no longer,'
Bridgely said, sounding aggrieved. Then he smiled to allay
Iantine's obvious anxiety. 'Don't worry about it, lad. I just
want to know where my lady and I fit into your appointment
calendar.'
With that he walked away.
K'vin was hiding his grin behind his gloved hand. 'One can
be too successful, you know,' he said. Then he gestured for
Iantine to mount Charanth, while he held the painting which
he passed up to the artist when he was settled. 'I'm glad you're
going to fix this.'
'Lord Holder Vergerin specifically requested me to. And I
must say, I'm glad to do the sitter... justice.'
'Justice?' K'vin laughed as he landed neatly between the
bronze neck ridges. 'I think that's possibly a dirty word to
Chalkin now!'
Iantine grunted as the dragon suddenly launched himself.
Not only was Iantine going to be able to set right that
inaccurate portrait - he felt he had demeaned himself and
Hall Domaize by succumbing to Chalkin's coercion, in spite
of having no viable alternative - but he had given himself
more time at Telgar Weyr. And Turn's End was nearing:
Turn's End and the festivities that the mid-winter holiday
always incurred. Maybe then he could come to some agree-
ment with Debera.
Dragonriders could and often did take mates from non-
riders. It would have been easier if his profession was one
that he could offer the Weyr in return for staying on in Telgar.
But, once Morath was able to fly, Debera could fly him
wherever his commissions took him.
That is, if she felt anywhere near the same about him as he
did about her. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought

252

he'd be IN a Weyr at all. He could almost have thanked
Chalkin for being the catalyst on that score: almost. Until he

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remembered the stark horror of what Chalkin had done at
the borders and in the cold storage cells. He shuddered.
'Thought you'd be used to this by now,' K'vin said, leaning
back to speak into Iantine's ear.
'It isn't this,' Iantine said, shaking his head and grinning.
He thoroughly enjoyed flying and, after the first experience
with the utter cold and nothingness of between, had not been
nervous about that transfer. He took a firmer grip on the
strings about the painting. Charanth was now high enough
above Bitra Hold to go between. Meranath, bearing Tashvi
and Salda as well as Zulaya, zoomed up beside his right wing:
the dragon's golden body gleaming in the bright morning sun
as her riders waved at him.
As he waved back, Iantine was surprised to think it was
still morning. The invasion of Bitra Hold had begun in such
early hours that the day was not that old. So much happened
these days!
BLACKNESS! Iantine couldn't feel the cord on the paint-
ing, his butt on Charanth's neck, and then they were out in
the sun, hanging over Telgar's familiar cone.
Far below, above the prow of Telgar Hold, a sparkle
showed that Meranath had arrived. The big bronze now
turned gracefully on one wing and headed down towards the
Weyr.
For Iantine, this happened all too swiftly, for he saw so
much more from this vantage point than he did from the
ground: the dragons sleeping in the sun on their weyr ledges,
the younger riders practising catch and throw with firestone
sacks, even the weyrlings getting their morning scrub around
the lake. Debera would be among them. He tried to see if he
could identify her, and Morath, but at that height details were
lost. Two dragons, browns both, were eating their kill further
down the valley. Another rider burst into the air above a
watchrider, who gestured broadly for him to land. Then
Charanth had spiralled close enough to be identified, too, and
welcomed back. Iantine could feel a rumble in the bronze's

253

body. Did dragons speak out loud to each other? He had to
tighten his hold on the painting or have the wind of their
descent pull it free.
As they dropped, K'vin turned his head. 'At the Cavern?'
'Please,' and Iantine nodded, struggling to keep a grip on
the painting. Not that losing it would bother him, but then
he'd have to waste another board.
He swung his leg over and slid down Charanth's shoulder
as quickly as he could.
'My thanks, K'vin,' he said, grinning up, having to shield
his eyes from the sun.
'Not needed. You more than earned it with today's doings.'
Charanth rumbled again, his gently whirling blue eyes
focused on Iantine who saluted him in gratitude. Then the
bronze leaped up, flapped his wings twice and was landing on
the ledge of the Weyrwoman's quarters.
'You're back, you're back, and safe,' and Leopol came
racing out of the Lower Cavern, leaping towards Iantine who
put out a restraining hand so the boy wouldn't carom off the
edge of the painting.

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'What have you done now?' Leopol demanded, taking care
not to batter it.
'It's to be redone,' Iantine said, knowing the uselessness of
avoiding Leopol's interest.
'Oh, the Chalkin portrait?' Leopol reached for it and
Iantine pivoted, putting his body between it and the lad's
acquisitive hands.
'You're clever, aren't you?'
'Yup,' and Leopol's grin bore not a single trace of remorse.
'So? What happened when you deposed him?'
Iantine stopped in his tracks and stared at him.
'Deposed whom?'
Leopol planted his fists on his belt, cocked his head and
gave Iantine a long and disgusted look, finally shaking his
head.
'One, you rode away on a Fort Weyr dragon. Two, you've
been gone overnight so something was up. Especially when
the Weyrleaders are gone, too. Three, we all know that

254

Chalkin's for the chop, and four, you come back with a portrait
and it isn't one you've done here.' Leopol spread his hands.
'It's obvious. The Lords and Leaders have got rid of Chalkin.
Impeached, deposed and exiled him. Right?' He grinned at
the summation, cocking his head over the other shoulder.
'Right?' he repeated.
Iantine sighed. 'It's not my place to confirm or deny,' he
said tactfully, and started again for his quarters.
Leopol dodged in front, halting him again. 'But I'm right
about Chalkin, aren't I? He won't get ready for Threadfall,
he's been far too hard on his people and half the Lord Holders
owe him huge sacks of marks in gambling debts.'
Iantine stopped. 'Gambling debts?' He brushed past,
determined to get to the dubious safety of his room without
giving anything away to such a gossip as Leopol.
'Ah, Iantine.' Tisha caught sight of him and moved her bulk
through the tables with surprising speed and agility to inter-
cept him. 'Did they catch Chalkin all right? Did he struggle?
Did that spouse of his go with him, which frankly would
surprise me? Did they find Vergerin alive? Will he take Hold,
or does he have to wait 'til the Conclave at Turn's End?'
Leopol bent double with laughter at Iantine's expression.
'Yes, no, no, yes and I don't know,' he answered in reply
to her rapid-fire questions.
'You see? I'm not the only one,' Leopol said, hanging on
to a chair with one hand to keep his balance while he brushed
laugh tears from his eyes with the other, thoroughly delighted
with himself and Iantine's reaction.
'I'd like to hear all, Iantine,' Tisha said and deposited the
klah mugs and the plate of freshly baked cookies on the table
nearest him. 'Do sit. You've had a hard day already and it's
not noon yet.'
'I'll take it and put it very carefully in your room,' Leopol
said, grabbing hold of the wrapped painting and then snatch-
ing it out of Iantine's unconsciously relaxed grip. 'And I won't
look until you tell me I can.'
'No, wait, Leo,' said Tisha. 'I want to see what Chalkin
considered "satisfactory".'

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255

'Do I have no privacy around here?' Iantine demanded,
raising his hands in helplessness. 'Is there no way to keep
secrets?'
'Not in a well-run Weyr, there isn't,' said Tisha. 'Eat. Drink.
And, Leo, take the basket I made ready for K'vin up to his
weyr. I didn't see Zulaya and Meranath, so she may have
stopped over at Telgar Hold.'
His knees weakened, as did his resolve, and Iantine
collapsed into the chair Tisha had invitingly pulled out for
him.
'Shall I?' Leopol asked in his best wheedling tone, one hand
on the cord knot.
'I'm not sure I could stop you,' Iantine said, and caught the
pad he had stuffed inside the wrapping as Leopol made short
work of opening.
Iantine put the pad to one side. He didn't really want to
show the latest drawings he'd done. The two castrati had died
shortly after he had finished the sketches. He intensely
regretted how pleased he had been with their sentences. Had
they had any idea of what additional torment Chalkin would
inflict on them when they asked to be returned to their Hold?
No, or they wouldn't have gone. Then Iantine caught Tisha's
sharp eye on his face and wondered if she had read his
expression which he had tried to keep blank. Fortunately, the
much-glamorized Chalkin stared out of the painting at them
and Tisha's first good look sent her into gales of laughter,
with Leopol whooping nearly as loud.
The headwoman had an infectious laugh under any con-
dition: a mere chuckle from her would have anyone in her
vicinity grinning in response. Iantine was in sore need of a
good laugh and, if his inner anxieties kept him from joining
in wholeheartedly, at least he was made to grin.
Tisha's amusement alerted the rest of the weyrfolk to
Iantine's return, and the table was shortly surrounded by
people having a good laugh over what Chalkin had considered
to be a 'satisfactory portrait' of himself. He sated their
curiosity by giving a brief report of what had happened.
Everyone was much relieved that Chalkin was not only no

256

longer Bitra's Lord, but also that he had been exiled far away
from the Mainland.
'Too good for him, really,' someone said.
'Ah, but he's lord of all he surveys, ain't he? Suit him!'
'No-one was hurt?'
'Who's going to take Hold there now, with so much to do
close to Fall?'
Iantine answered as circumspectly as he could, though he
was amazed at how accurately the weyrfolk had guessed what
had happened. They also seemed to know a great deal about
a Hold that was not beholden to Telgat Weyr. He didn't think
he'd talked much about his uncomfortable stay at Bitra, so
they must have had their information from other sources.
Weyrfolk did get to travel more than holders, so perhaps their

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level of information was more comprehensive.
Riders drifted in, early for the noontime meal but just as
interested in what had happened at Bitra Hold. Some of the
older ones remembered the wager that had cost Vergerin
the Holding, and other details about that Bloodline that
certainly showed them well informed.
Iantine was grateful for the klah and cookies Tisha had
brought and equally pleased to have Leopol bring him bread,
cheese and the sliced wherry meat that was being served for
lunch. He did have a moment's anxiety when he saw K'vin,
at the edge of the crowd, gesturing for his attention. Maybe
he shouldn't have said a thing.
He told Leopol to take the notorious portrait to his
quarters, bundled his pad under his arm - because he knew
nothing would keep Leopol from looking all through it - and
then made his way to K'vin. Since he had obviously told all
he was going to tell, he was allowed to pass, with good-natured
mauling on his way.
'I'm sorry, Weyrleader, if I was speaking out of turn...'
K'vin regarded him with widened eyes. 'Speaking out of
turn? Ha, they had probably figured out everything on their
own. What could you possibly tell them that they didn't
know?'
'How many people Chalkin had in those appalling cells,'

257

Iantine said, blurting out the words before he realized what
he was saying.
K'vin put a sympathetic arm around his shoulders. 'I think
I'll have a few bad dreams over that myself,' and he gave a
deep shudder. 'Perhaps you'd best get some rest...'
'No, I'd rather not, if you'd something else for me to do,'
Iantine said truthfully. He didn't even need to stop off at his
own quarters as his tubes of oil and brushes were already in
the Weyrleaders' quarters.
K'vin's solicitous expression brightened. 'I've some time
now, and you've the painting to finish of me... unless you'd
rather redo Chalkin . . . but Bridgely made it very plain to
me that he'd like you at Benden to do his commissions by
Turn's End. You're much sought after, you know.'
Iantine made a disparaging noise in his throat, embarrassed
by his notoriety. K'vin, grinning at his reaction, slapped him
lightly on his back in affection.
'So what's it to be?' the Weyrleader asked.
'You, of course. Did you...' and he hesitated, not wanting
to be thought pushy, 'did you like Zulaya's portrait?'
K'vin gave a low laugh and turned his face away. 'You've
done her proud, Iantine. Proud.'
'She's easy. She's beautiful,' Iantine said.
'Yes, isn't she?'
Something about the tone of his voice made Iantine wonder
at such a response. They were Weyrleaders, together, weren't
they? They always made such a stance of a good partnership.
But Iantine was getting as good at hearing things that weren't
expressed as he was at seeing all that could be seen. Not his
place to comment, though, despite a growing admiration for
K'vin as Weyrleader. Zulaya was a bit reserved, he knew from
having spent so much time painting her, but she was much

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older than Iantine. And older than K'vin, too, for that matter.
'That gown was perfect for her,' Iantine remarked to break
an awkward silence.
'Yes, she had it made for the last Hatching,' K'vin said and
the smile he turned towards Iantine was easy, relaxed.
Iantine wondered if all he'd seen that morning hadn't

258

skewed his judgment. They were at the weyr stairs now and
climbed up. At the top of the steep flight, Iantine was glad he
wasn't even out of breath.
'You're in good shape,' K'vin said, with another friendly
slap to his back to push him on into the high-ceilinged
entrance to the weyr.
'I'd need to be, wouldn't I?' Iantine replied with a droll
laugh. He paused briefly, his eyes seeking the weyrlings at
the lake. Yes, Debera was there, oiling Morath. He'd have a
chance to talk to her later: maybe even take dinner with her
and show her Chalkin's portrait before he made the changes.
Could he, he wondered as he watched K'vin change into the
Gather clothes he wore for his portrait, add to that face what
went on in that man's miserable soul? Was he good enough
to attempt such a portrayal?

Amid all the frantic preparations for Turn's End, Clisser
braved S'nan's displeasure to request transport to the Telgat
Engineering Hall to discuss the feasibility of the Stonehenge
installation for Pern's purposes. Well, Clisser kept his request
to a need to discuss something vital with Kalvi since S'nan
felt such bells, whistles and signals should be unnecessary if
the Weyrs were kept on their toes during Intervals.
Jemmy had meticulously drawn a replica of the prehistoric
stone circle, plus another of a reconstruction of what it had
originally looked like, and such description as might be
valuable to Kalvi and his team.
Kalvi took one quick, almost derisive glance at the draw-
ings, and then a second, more respectful one.
'Eye Rock? Finger Rock? Solstice?' He gave Clisser a
broad smile. 'I do believe it will suffice and rather neatly.'
Then he frowned. 'Couldn't you have given me a little more
time? Solstice is only two weeks off...' 'I...' Clisser began.
'Sorry, friend,' Kalvi said with a self-deprecating smile,
'you'd be busy with rehearsing and all that. Hmmm. Just leave
it with me. I think we can contrive something . . .' and he

259

riffled through Jemmy's sketches. 'Hmmm, yes, the lad has
real talent.'
'Don't you dare seduce him away from the College,' Clisser
said, assembling as fierce a frown on his face as he gave to
wayward students.
Kalvi grinned, pretending to recoil in terror but his eyes
were on the drawings. 'We'll manage.' He gave an exagger-
ated sigh. 'It's what we're good at.'
Clisser left, reassured that he would not fail the Conclave
on this matter.

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260

Turn's End at Fort Hold and Telgat Weyr

Traditionally the Lords Holder and the Weyrleaders -
and the invited heads of the various Professions - met in
Conclave the day before Turn's End - the Winter Solstice
- to discuss what matters should be brought to those
who would assemble for the festivities. Should a referendum
figure on the agenda, its details would have been previously
circulated. It would also be read out that evening in every
main Hold and Hall. If voting was required, votes were cast
the morning of the First Day of Turn's End, the results
counted and returned to the second traditional sitting of the
Conclave on the day after Turn's End, when the New Year
started.
The tradition was even more important in this 258th year
after Landing with the Pass so imminent. Although Vergerin
had been in charge but twenty days before the Conclave, it
was obvious that he was taking a firm, but just Hold on Bitra.
He was also working his assistants hard but fairly. None of

261

them had any complaint to register when adroitly queried by
their fathers or mothers. Vergerin's first official act had been
to send riders to every single known holding and announce
Chalkin's removal and that as many as could attend Turn's
End at Bitra Hold would be made welcome. Vergerin paid
for additional supplies out of his own funds. (No-one had
found Chalkin's treasury; nor had he taken it with him into
exile. Nadona had denied any knowledge of its where-
abouts and moaned that he had left her without a mark to
her name.)
Altering a previously made decision, the Teachers' College
planned now to supply a Turn's End concert to Bitra. They
would bring the copies of the Charter which Vergerin had
requested, to be given to each small holder. That would
deplete to a few dozen the printed copies left in the College
Library, but Clisser felt it to be in a very good cause. Since
the Turn's End music featured Sheledon's ambitious 'Landing
Suite' - which made mention of the Charter - the audience
would have a better understanding of what the music, and
indeed, the printed Charter, was all about. Bitran holders
would no longer be kept in abysmal ignorance of their
Charter-given rights.
Consequently when the Conclave sat, the first order of
business was to confirm Vergerin as Lord Holder of Bitra. He
was not abjured to train his young relatives, Chalkin's sons,
to succession although he was in conscience bound to see them
well taken care of, educated and prepared to make their own
living as adults. He was relieved of his promise to forego
having legitimate heirs and promptly installed at Bitra a
nine-year-old son and a five-year-old daughter. No-one ever
knew who their mother had been. Vergerin made it plain that

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he was interested in acquiring a spouse suitable to hold as
his Lady.
Clisser was called on to report on the matter of an
indestructible and unambiguous method of confirming a Pass,
and said that Kalvi and he had agreed on the mechanism and
it would be installed on the eastern face of every Weyr. Kalvi
looked suitably smug and nodded wisely, so Paulin allowed

262

himself to be reassured. He wanted no more problems like
Chalkin to arise again! Ever! And now was the moment to
prevent them.
The matter of a new hold being established and named
CROM came up, and there was considerable discussion.
'Look, they are entitled to use their Charter-granted acres,
and that amounts to a fair whack of land,' Bastom said,
unexpectedly coming down on the side of the applicants. 'Let
'em call it a hold...'
'Yes, but they want autonomy and besides, they're too far
from any other Hold up there in the hills,' Azury put in.
'It'll have to prove it's self-sufficient . . .' Tashvi said,
looking reluctant to admit that much. Which was under-
standable since Telgar was also a mining Hold.
'They have to follow the rules, same as everyone else,'
Paulin said in a neutral manner. 'And supply basic needs to
Contract workers.'
'They're in good shape to do so,' Azury remarked dryly,
'what with the profit they can expect from supplying high-
grade ore at the start of a Pass.'
'Consider them on probation,' was Bridgely's suggestion,
and that was the motion which was carried.
There were a few more minor details to be discussed but
these were carried as well. This year there was no referendum
to be presented to the population.
'However, I want every one of you to give a full report of
the trials and Chalkin's impeachment to the assembled,'
Paulin reminded the Lord Holders. 'We want the truth
circulated and believed: not a mess of rumours.'
'Like the cannibalism!' Bridgely had been highly indignant
over that one. 'Sadistic Chalkin was, but let's squash that one
tlOW!'
'How under the sun did such a rumour ever get started?'
Paulin asked, appalled. S'nan looked in a state of shock,
staring incredulous at the Benden Lord Holder.
'The "cold storage", I suspect,' Bridgely said, disgusted.
'We didn't coin the term,' said Azury with a shrug.
'Well, we don't want it circulated,' M'shall said angrily. 'Bad

263

enough having to live with the facts without having to debunk
the fantasies.'
'We do want the swift justice meted out to the rapists
and the murderers to be well publicized, though,' Richud
put in.
'That, yes! Speculation, no,' Paulin said. He rose, and
tapped the gavel on its block. 'I declare this session of the

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Conclave dismissed. Enjoy Turn's End and we'll meet in three
days' time.'
He intended to enjoy every moment of it for the year he'd
put in. He noticed a similar determination on other faces,
especially young Gallian's. Apart from the Chalkin affair,
Jamson had no need to fault his son's management of High
Reaches. Though maybe that bit about 'cannibalism' could be
whispered in Jamson's presence. That would certainly alter
his opinion about impeachment. Somehow Thea was still
'ailing' and had persuaded her spouse to stay on in Ista for
Turn's End. That gave more opportunity for the Chalkin affair
to die a natural death.
Turn's End was a holiday for everyone except for those
involved in the ambitious 'Landing Suite' debut at all the
Weyrs and the major Holds. Clisser was run ragged with
rehearsals and last-minute assignments, and understudies
for those with winter colds. Then he had the extra burden
of preparing for the precise calculations needed to set up
the fail-safe mechanism to predict a Pass. Torn between the
musical rehearsals and observing the installation of a
permanent Thread-Fall warning device, he opted for the
latter. Of course, his role was supervisory, as the more precise
location had to be conducted by teams of astronomers,
engineers and Weyrleaders on the eastern rim of all six estab-
lishments. He, Jemmy and Kalvi were to set the mechanism
at Benden, the first Weyr to 'see' the phenomenon, then
skedaddle on dragonback to each of the other five Weyrs to
be sure all went smoothly.
It was imperative that the first installation, at Benden, had
to be spot on in case there might be a distortion at any other.
Though Clisser doubted it, not with Kalvi fussing and fussing

264

over the components. Clisser had been over and over the
requisite steps to pinpoint the rise of the Red Star. Once that
circular 'eye' was set on the Rim, they could install the pointer,
the finger. But the 'eye' had to be spot on! The teams had
been in place for the past week, with pre-dawn checks on the
Red Planet's position at dawn. All that was necessary now
was a clear morning, and that seemed to be possible across
the continent which had enjoyed some bright clear, if wintry,
skies. Fine weather was critically important at Benden, for the
other Weyrs could take adjusted measurements from that
reading if necessary.
Kalvi was still fiddling with the design of what he was calling
the Eye Rock, which would bracket the Red Planet at dawn
on Winter Solstice. His main problem was adjusting the
pointer... the position at a distance from the Eye itself at
which the viewer would stand to see the planet. The pointer
had to accommodate different physical heights. Old diagrams
of Stonehenge and other prehistoric rings had surfaced.
Actually Bethany's students had found them after an intensive
search of long-unused documents. Fortunately for Clisser's
peace, Sallisha had gone to Nerat for the Turn's End celebra-
tion, ready to start her next year's teaching Contract. He was
spared any reminder from her of how important it was to keep
such ancient knowledge viable. He had rehearsed arguments,
in case he had a letter from her, about the fact that, in the

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crunch, someone had remembered.
He was quite excited - if freezing - to be on Benden Weyr's
Rim with the others, telescopes set up, aimed in the appro-
priate direction while Kalvi and Jemmy fiddled with their
components. Kalvi had put up a cone for the pointer; the
notion being that a person resting their chin on the cone's tip
would see the Red Planet brackete~ just as it cleared the
horizon. They'd have to try it with folks of various statures
to be sure that the device worked, but technically, Clisser
thought it would. Kalvi was the shortest, he was tallest, M'shall
was a half-head shorter, and Jemmy between the Weyrleader
and Kalvi. If all could see the Red Planet in the Eye, the
device would be proven.

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Well, it would really be proven in another two hundred and
fifty years or so with the Third Pass!
But this moment was exciting. He slapped his body with his
arms, trying to warm himself. His feet, despite the extra lining,
were frozen; he could barely feel his toes, and his breath was
so visible he worried that it might cloud his chance to see the
phenomenon.
'Here it comes,' said Kalvi, though Clisser could see nothing
in the crepuscular dawn light. Kalvi was looking at his
instrument, not the sky.
A tip of red appeared just over the bottom of the Eye a
breath or two later. A redness that seemed to pulsate. It wasn't
a very large planet - from this distance, it wouldn't be, Clisser
thought, though they had the measurements of it from the
Yokohama observations. It was approximately the same size
as Earth's old sister, Venus. And about as hospitable.
Somehow, Clisser thought - and told himself to breathe -
as he watched, the wanderer managed to look baleful in its
redness. Hadn't one of the other Sol satellites been called the
'red planet'? Oh, yes, Mars. Suitable, too, since it had been
named after a war god.
And equally a suitable colour for a planet that was about
to wreak havoc on us. How could such an avaricious organism
develop on a planet that spent most of its orbit too far away
from Rubkat's warmth to generate any life form? Of course,
he was aware that very odd 'Life' forms had been found by
the early space explorers. Who had blundered into the Nathi,
to name another vicious species?
But the reports on this mycorrhizoid gave it no intelligence
whatsoever. A menace without malice. Clisser sighed. Well,
that was some consolation: it didn't really mean to eat
everything in sight, people, animals, plants, trees; but that was
all it could do.
Which was more than enough, Clissser thought grimly,
remembering the visuals of recorded incidents. That's another
thing he ought to have done - a graphic record - even a still
picture would make vividly plain how devastating Thread
could be. Iantine's sketches done at the Bitran b~)rders had

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impressed the Teacher immensely. Though it was a shame to

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waste Iantine's talents on a copy job. Anyone could copy; few
could originate.
Meanwhile, the red edge crept up over the Rim of Benden
Weyr.
'THAT'S IT!' Kalvi cried. He was lying on his stomach,
the iron circle in his hands. 'I got it. Cement it in place
now. Quickly. You there at the Finger Rock. Eyeball the
phenomenon. All of you should see it bracketed by this
circle.'
The viewers had lined themselves up and each took a turn
even as Kalvi raced back to grab a look from this vantage
point.
'Yup, that'll do it. You got that solidly in place? Good,' and
the energetic engineer turned to M'shall. 'As you love your
dragon, don't let anyone or anything touch that iron rim. I've
used a fast-drying cement, but even a fraction out of alignment
and we've lost it.'
'No-one'11 be up here after we leave,' M'shall promised,
eyeing the metal circle nervously. For all he knew that the
ring was iron, it looked fragile sitting there, the Red Planet
slowly rising above it. 'But that's going to be replaced, isn't
it? With stone?'
'It is, and don't worry about us messing up the alignment
later. We won't,' Kalvi said, blithely confident, rubbing his
hands together and grinning with success. 'Now, we've got
some more dawns to meet.'
'Yes, surely, but take time for breakfast.'
'Ha! No time to pamper ourselves. But I was indeed grateful
for the klah.' Kalvi was gathering up his equipment, including
five more iron circles, and gesturing to his crew to hurry up.
'Not with five more stops to make this morning. The things I
talk myself into!' He looked around now in the semi-dark of
false dawn. 'Where's our ride?'
'That way,' M'shall said, pointing to the brown dragons and
riders waiting around on the Rim.
'Oh, good. Thanks, M'shall.' And, rings clanging dully
where they rode on his shoulder, Kalvi gathered up his packs

267

and half-ran, his crew trailing behind. Clisser sighed and
followed.
Well, he thought, he'd be well inured to the cold of between.
They'd have an hour and a half between Benden and Igen,
but then only half an hour from Igen to Ista to Telgar, where
they'd have a little over an hour and time for something hot
to eat before going on to Fort. High Reaches was actually the
last Weyr to be done, which really didn't salve S'nan's pride
all that much, but sunrise came forty-five minutes later in the
northernmost Weyr due to the longitudinal difference. How-
ever, S'nan couldn't argue the point that Benden had to have
its equipment installed first since it was the most easterly.
Clisser had heard the talk about S'nan's continued distress
over Chalkin's impeachment. The Fort Weyrleader was not
the oldest of the six: G'don was, but no-one worried about
his competence to lead the Weyr. S'nan had always been
inflexible, literal, didactic, but that wouldn't necessarily signify
poor leadership during the Pass. Clisser sighed. That was a
Weyr problem, not his. Thank goodness! He had enough of

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them.
He'd catch some rest when they finished at Fort Weyr so
he'd be fresh for the final rehearsal at the Hall. If Sheledon
had altered the score again during his absence, he'd take him
to task. No-one would know what to play with all the changes.
Get this performance over with and then refine the work. It
was, Clisser felt, quite possibly Sheledon's masterpiece.
'You're riding with me, Teacher,' a voice said. 'Don't want
you walking off the Rim!'
Clisser shook himself to attention and smiled up at the
brown rider. 'Yes, yes, of course.'
'Here's my hand,' and Clisser reached up to it.
'Oh, thank you,' he added to the dragon who had not only
turned his head but helpfully lifted his forearm to make an
easier step up.
Then he was astride the big dragon, settling himself,
snapping on the safety strap. 'I'm ready.'
Clisser did catch his breath though when the dragon seemed

268

to just fall off the Rim into the blackness of Benden's Bowl.
He grabbed at the security of the safety strap and then almost
cracked his chin on his chest as the dragoh's wings caught the
air and he soared upward.
They were facing east, and the malevolence of the Red Star
was dimmed by the glow of Rukbat rising, altering the rogue
planet's aspect to one of almost negligible visibility, almost
anonymity, in the brightening sky.
Amazing! thought Clisser. I must remember to jot that down.
But he knew he never would. And Pernese literature was thus
saved another diarist, he amended. Clisser saw that the rider,
too, had his eyes fastened on the magnificent spectacle. He
must savour this ride. The dragon veered northward, pivoting
slowly on his left wing-tip. The dragons would soon have more
important journeys to make. Clisser did observe the majestic
snowcapped mountains of the Great Northern Range, tinted
delicate shades of orange by the rising sun. What Iantine could
make of such a scene! Then abruptly all he could see was the
black nothingness of between.

'What happens if you wear your fingers out?' Leopol asked
Iantine.
The artist hadn't even been aware of the lad's presence but
the comment - because Iantine was sketching the scene of the
dragonets so fast that his elbow was actually aching - caused
him to burst out laughing, even though he didn't pause for a
moment.
'I don't know. I've never heard of it happening, though, if
that's any consolation.'
'Not to me, but for you,' Leopol said, cocking his head in
his characteristically impudent fashion.
'I'll miss you, you know,' lantine told him, grinning down
at the sharp expression on Leopol's face.
'I should hope so, when I've been your hands, feet and
mouth for months now,' was the irrepressible answer. 'You
could take me with you. I'd be useful,' and Leopol's expres-
sion was earnest, his grey eyes clouded. 'I know how you like

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269

your paints mixed, your brushes cleaned, and even how to
prepare wood or canvas for portraits.' His pathetic stance
could have persuaded almost anyone.
Iantine chuckled and ruffled the boy's thick black hair. 'And
what would your father do?'
'Him? He's winding himself up for Threadfall.' A discreet
question to Tisha had produced the information that a
bronze rider, C'lim, was the boy's father; the mother had died
shortly after Leopol's birth. But he, like every other child of
the Weyr, had become everyone's child, loved and disciplined
as the need arose. 'He doesn't half pay attention to me any
more.'
Which was fair, Iantine thought, since Leopol had become
his shadow. 'Tisha?'
'Her? She'll find someone else to mother.'
'Well, I will ask, but I doubt you'd be allowed. The other
riders think you'll Impress a bronze when you're old enough.'
Leopol tossed off that future with a shrug. What he could
do now was more important than what might be three or four
years in the future. 'D'you have to go?'
'Yes, I have to go. I'm in grave danger of overstaying my
welcome here.'
'No, you're not,' and Leopol looked significantly towards
the lake where the weyrlings were having their customary
bath. 'And you haven't drawn all the riders yet.'
'Be that as it may, Leo, I'm due at Benden to do the
Holders, and that's a commission I've been owing since I
started my training at Hall Domaize.'
'When you do those, will you come straight back? You
haven't done Chalkin's face like he really is, you know, and
it isn't as if you were doing anyone else out of a place to
sleep.' Leopol's face was completely contorted now by his
dismay. 'Debera really wants you to stay, you know.'
Iantine shot him an almost angry look. 'Leopol?' he said
warningly.
'Aw,' and the boy screwed his boot toe into the dirt,
'everyone knows you fancy her, and the girls say that she's
gone on you. It's only Morath who's the problem. And she

270

doesn't have to be. Soon as she can fly, she'll have a weyr
and you'll have some privacy.'
'Privacy?' Iantine knew that Leopol was precocious but...
Leopol cocked his head and had the grace not to grin.
'Weyrs're like that. Everyone knows everyone else's secrets.'
Iantine hung amid irritation to relief in the information
about Debera and amusement that his carefully hidden
interest was so transparent. He had never thought about
loving someone so much that their absence could cause
physical discomfort. He never thought he would spend sleep-
less hours reviewing even the briefest of conversations;
identify a certain voice in a crowded cavern; have to rub out
sketches of imagined meetings and poses which his fingers did
of their own accord. He kept close guard on his sketch-pads
because there were far too many of Debera - and the

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ever-present Morath. Morath liked him, too. He knew that
because she'd told him she did.
That, actually, had been the first encouraging sign he'd had.
He had tried, adroitly, to figure out how significant that might
be, as far as Debera's awareness of him was concerned. He'd
ask while he was sketching a rider, as if he was only politely
enquiring about what was closest to his model's heart anyway.
It appeared that a dragon could talk to anyone, she/he wished
to. They did so for reasons of their own, which sometimes
they did not discuss with their riders. Or they did. None of
the other weyrlings, even the greens with whom Iantine was
now quite familiar, spoke to him. It was Morath who counted.
Not that the green dragon - who was the largest of that colour
from that dutch - ever explained herself. Nor did Iantine ask.
He merely treasured the immense compliment of her con-
versation.
She did ask to see his sketch-pad once. He noticed the
phenomenon of the pad reflected in every one of the many
facets of her eyes. They'd been bluey-green at the time, their
normal shade, and whirling slowly. 'Do you see anything?'
Yes. Shapes. You put the shapes on the pad with the thing
in your hand?

271

'I do.' How much could a dragon see with that kind of
optical equipment? Still, Iantine supposed it would be useful
when Thread was falling from all directions. As the dragon
eye protruded out from the head, it obtained overhead
images, too. Good design. But then, dragons had been
designed, though no-one nowadays knew who could have
managed the genetic engineering. It was one thing to breed
animals for specific traits, but to begin from the first cell to
create a totally new creature? 'Do you like this one of Debera
oiling you?' He tapped his pencil on the one he'd done that
morning.
It looks like Debera. It looks like me? and there was
plaintive surprise in Morath's contralto voice. That was when
Iantine realized that Morath sounded very much like her rider.
But then, that was only logical since they were inseparable.
Inseparable! That's what bothered him most. He knew that
his love for Debera would be constant, but any love left over
from Morath for him could scarcely match his commitment.
Did it have to? After all, he was totally committed to his work.
Could he fault her for being equally single-minded? There
was, however, a considerable difference between loving a
dragon and loving to paint. Or was there?
Maybe it was as well, Iantine thought, tucking his pencil
behind his ear and closing his pad, that he was going to
Benden after Turn's End. Maybe if Debera... and Morath
ú.. were out of sight, they might also go out of mind and his
attachment would ease off.
'You got your Turn's End clothes ready? Need ironing, er,
anything?' Leopol asked, his expression wistful.
'You did 'em yesterday, and I haven't worn 'em yet,' he
said, but he ruffled the boy's thick hair again and, looping his
arm over the thin shoulders, steered him to the kitchen. 'Let's
eat.'
'Ah, there's not much to eat,' Leopol said in disgust.

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'Everyone's getting ready for tonight.'
'They've been getting ready all week,' Iantine said. 'But
there's bread and cold meats set out.'
'Huh!'

272

Iantine noticed that Leopol had no trouble making himself
several sandwiches of what was available, and had two cups
of soup and two apples. He noted that he had no trouble
eating, either, though some of the smells emanating from the
ovens - and all were in use - were more appetizing than lunch.
He intended to enjoy himself this evening.
Then Leopol, eyes wide with excitement, leaped from the
table. 'Look, look, the musicians are here!'
Glancing outward, Iantine saw them dismounting from
half a dozen dragons. They were laughing and shouting as
instruments were carefully handed down from dragonbacks,
and carisaks were passed around. Tisha sailed out, her
assistants with her, and shortly everyone was in the Lower
Cavern and being served a lunch considerably more com-
plicated than soup and sandwiches. Leopol was in the thick
of it, too, the rascal, and the recipient of a huge wedge of iced
cake. Iantine selected a good spot against the wall, sharpened
his pencil with his knife and opened his pad. This was a good
scene to preserve. If he got them down on paper now, maybe
he could listen to the music this evening without itchy fingers.
As he worked, he realized that Telgar had rated some of the
best musicians, called back from wherever their contracts had
taken them, for Turn's End celebrations. He'd finish in time
for the concert, and that would be that for the day!
It wasn't, of course. But then, he found it hard not to sketch
exciting moments and scenes. Especially as he didn't want
to leave this pad anywhere that it could be casually opened.
And he could listen to the music just as well while drawing.
Sketching also kept his hands where they should be and not
itching to go round Debera's shoulder, or hold her hand.
Sketching did allow him some licence, for he could always
apologize that he 'didn't realize his leg was against hers', or
that their 'shoulders were touching' or that he was 'bending
his body close to hers'. After all, he was so busy sketching,
he wouldn't be noticing externals.
If Debera had found the contact unpleasant or annoying,
she could have moved her leg away from his, or moved about
on the bench. But she didn't seem to mind him overlapping

273

her from time to time in the 'zeal to get this or that pose'.
Truth was he was totally conscious of her proximity, the floral
fragrance that she used which didn't quite hide the 'new' smell
of the lovely pale green dress she was wearing. Green was
her colour and she must know that: a gentle green, like new
leaves, which made her complexion glow. Angie had told him
the colour of Debera's Turn's End gown, so he'd bought a
shirt of a much deeper green so that they'd go together. He
liked the way she'd made a coronet of her long hair, with pale
green ribbons laced in and dangling down her back. Even her

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slippers were green. He wondered if there'd be dancing music,
too, but there usually was at Turn's End. Although maybe
not, what with the 'Landing Suite' first. He bent to ask her to
reserve dances for him, but she shushed him.
'Listen, too, Ian,' she said in a soft whisper, gesturing to his
pad. 'The words are as beautiful as the music.'
Iantine glanced forward again, only now realizing that there
were singers, too. Had he been that rapt in being next to
Debera without Morath?
I'm here. I listen, too and Morath's voice startled him,
coming into his head so unexpectedly.
He gulped. Would the dragon always be able to read his
mind?
He asked the question again, more loudly, in his own head.
There was no reply. Because there was no reply? Or because
there was none needed to such an obvious question?
But Morath hadn't sounded upset that he was luxuriating
in Debera's proximity. She had sounded pleased to be there
and listening. Dragons liked music.
He glanced over his shoulder to the Bowl and could see
along the eastern wall the many pairs of dragon eyes, like so
many round blue-green lanterns up and down the wall of the
Weyr where dragons made part of the audience.
He began then, obediently, to listen to the words, and found
himself drawn in to the drama unfolding, even if he'd known
the story from childhood. The musicians called it the 'Landing
Suite' and this verse was about leaving the great colony ships
for the last time. A poignant moment, and the tenor voice

274

rose in a grateful farewell to them where they would orbit
over Landing for ever, their corridors empty, the bridge
deserted, the bays echoing vaults. The tenor, with creditable
breath control, let his final note die away as if lost in the vast
distance between the ships and the planet.
A respectful pause followed and then the ovation which his
solo had indeed merited burst forth. Quickly Iantine sketched
him, taking his bows, before he stepped back into the
ensemble.
'Oh, good, Ian. He was just marvellous,' Debera said,
craning her head to see what he was doing. She kept right on
clapping, her eyes shining. 'He'll be delighted you did him,
tOO.'
Iantine doubted that, and managed a smile that did not
echo the stab of jealousy he felt because Debera's interest
had been distracted from him.
She likes you, Ian, said Morath as if from a great distance,
though she was ranged with the other still flightless dragonets
on the Bowl floor.
lan? he echoed in surprise. Other riders had told him that,
while dragons would talk to people other than their own rider,
they weren't so good at remembering human names. Morath
knows my name?
Why shouldn't I? I hear it often enough. And Morath
sounded sort of tetchy.
Morath may never know just how much that remark means
to me, Iantine thought, taking in a deep breath that swelled
his chest out. Now, if he could just get her by herself alone...

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But she's never alone, now that she's my rider.
Iantine stifled a groan which he wanted neither dragon nor
rider to hear and compressed his thoughts as far down in his
head as he could. Would it all be worth it? he wondered. And
tried to divorce himself from Debera for the rest of the
concert.
He didn't pay such close attention to the second and
third parts of the 'Landing Suite', which brought events up
to the present. A cynical section of his mind noticed that
Chalkin's impeachment was not mentioned, but then it was a

275

very recent incident which the composer and lyricist would
not have known about. He wondered would it ever make
history? Chalkin would love it. Which might well be why
no-one would include him. That'd be the final punishment -
anonymity.
Dinner was announced at the conclusion of the 'Suite', and
the big Lower Cavern was efficiently reorganized for dining.
In the scurry and fuss of setting up tables and chairs, he got
separated from Debera. The panic which that caused him
made it extremely clear that he could not divorce his emo-
tions from the girl. When they found each other again, her
hand went out to him as quickly as his to her, and they
remained clasped while they waited in line to collect their
food.
Iantine and Debera finally found seats at one of the long
trestle tables where everyone was discussing the music, the
singers, the orchestration, how lucky they were to be in a
Weyr which got preferential treatment. There was, of course,
a tradition of music on Pern, brought by their ancestors and
encouraged by not only the Teaching Hall but also Weyr and
Hold. Everyone was taught how to read music from an early
age and encouraged to learn to play at least one instrument,
if not two or three. It was a poor hold indeed that could not
produce a guitar or at least pipes and a drum to liven winter
nights and special occasions.
The meal was very good - though Iantine had to con-
centrate on tasting it. Most of his senses were involved in
sitting thigh to thigh with Debera. She was quite volatile,
talking to everyone, with a great many things to say about
the various performances and the melodic lines that she
particularly liked. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes very
bright. He'd never seen her so elated. But then, he knew he
was feeling high with an almost breathless anticipation of the
dancing. He'd have her in his arms, then, even closer than
they were now. He could barely wait.
But he had to, for of course on First Day ice-cream, the
special and traditional sweet, was available and no-one would
want to miss that. It was a fruit flavour this year, creamy, rich,

276

tangy with lots of tiny fruit pieces, and he was torn between
eating slowly - which meant the confection might turn sloppy
since the Lower Cavern was warm indeed - or gulping it down
firm and cold. He noticed that Debera ate quickly, so he did

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the same.
As soon as the diners finished, they dismantled the tables
and pushed back the chairs so that there'd be space for the
dancing. The musicians, re-assembling in smaller units so that
the dance music would be continuous, were tuning up their
instruments again.
When all was ready, K'vin led Zulaya - respendent in the
red brocade dress of her portrait - on to the floor for their
traditional opening of the dance. Iantine caught himself
wanting to sketch the distinguished-looking couple, but he'd
hidden his pad in the pile of tables and had to content himself
with storing the details in his mind. He'd never seen Zulaya
flirt so with K'vin and the Weyrleader was responding
gallantly. He did notice some riders talking among themselves,
their eyes on the two Leaders, but he couldn't hear what was
said, and while the glances were speculative it wasn't his
business.
Next the wing leaders handed their partners out on the
floor for three turns before the wing seconds joined them.
Then Tisha - partnered by N'ran, the Weyr medic - whirled
very gracefully in among the dancers. The first dance ended,
but now the floor was open to everyone. The next number
was a brisk two-step.
'Will you dance with me, Debera?' Iantine asked, with a
formal bow.
Eyes gleaming, head held high and smiling as if her face
would split apart, Debera responded with a deep dip. 'Why,
I was hoping you'd ask, Iantine!'
'I get the next one,' Leopol cried, appearing unexpectedly
beside them and looking up at Debera, his eyes exceedingly
bright.
'Did you sneak some wine tonight?' Iantine asked, suspi-
cious.
'Who'd give me any?' Leopol replied morosely.

277

'No-one would give you anything you couldn't take another
way, Leo,' Debera said. 'But I'll keep you a dance. Later on.'
And she stepped towards the floor, Iantine whisking her
away from the boy as fast as he could.
'Even for a Weyr lad, he's precocious,' Debera said, and
she held up her arms as she moved into his.
'He is at that,' Iantine replied, but he didn't want to talk
about Leopol at all as he swung her lithe body among the
dancers, and eased them away to the opposite side of the floor
from Leopol.
'He'll follow, you know, until he gets his dance,' she said,
grinning up at him.
'We'll see about that,' and he tightened his arms posses-
sively around her strong, slender body.
Will I dance when I'm older? Iantine clearly heard the green
dragon ask.
Startled, he looked down at Debera and saw by the laughter
in her eyes that the dragon had spoken to them both.
'Dragons don't dance,' Debera said in her fond dragon-
tone. Iantine had noticed that she had a special one for
Morath.
'They sing,' Iantine said, wondering how he was ever going

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to eliminate Morath from the conversation long enough to
speak about them.
She'll listen to anything you say, Morath's voice, so much
like Debera's, sounded in his head.
Iantine grimaced, wondering how under the sun he could
manage any sort of a private conversation with his beloved.
I won't listen then. Morath sounded contrite.
'How long do you think you'll be at Benden, Ian?' Debera
asked.
He wondered if Morath had spoken to her, too, but decided
against asking, though he didn't want to discuss his departure
at all. Certainly not with Debera, the reason he desperately
wanted to stay at Telgar.
'Oh,' he said as casually as he could, 'I'd want to do
my best for Lord Bridgely and his Lady. They've been my
sponsors, you see, and I owe them a lot.'

278

'Do you know them well?'
'What? Me? No, my family's mountain holders.'
'So were mine.'
'Were?'
Debera gave a wry laugh. 'Don't let's talk about families.'
'I'd far rather talk about us,' he said, and then mentally
kicked himself for such a trite response. Debera's face clouded.
'Now what did I say wrong?' He tightened his arms on her
reassuringly. Her expression was so woeful.
She's been upset about something Tisha told the weyrlings
yesterday. I know I said I wouldn't interfere, but sometimes it's
needed.
'You didn't,' Debera said at the same time so he wasn't
sure who had said what, since the voices were so alike.
'But something is troubling you?'
She didn't answer immediately, but her hands tightened
where they gripped him.
'C'mon, now, Deb,' and he tried to jolly her a bit. 'I'11 listen
to anything you have to say.'
She gave him an odd glance. 'That's just it.'
'What is?'
'You wanting to talk to me, dance with only me and...'
'Ooooh,' and suddenly Iantine had a hunch. 'Tisha gave all
the riders that don't-do-anything-you'll-be-sorry-for at Turn's
End lecture?' She gave him a startled look, and he grinned
back at her. 'I've been read that one a time or two myself,
you know.'
'But you don't know,' she said, 'that it's different for
dragonriders. For green riders with very immature dragons.'
Then she gave him a horrified look as if she hadn't meant to
be so candid. 'Oh!'
He pulled her closer to him, even when she resisted, and
chuckled. All those casual questions he'd asked dragonriders
explained all that she didn't say.
'Green dragons are . . . how do I put it, kindly? Eager,
loving, willing, too friendly for their own good...'
She stared up at him, a blush suffusing her cheeks, her eyes

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angry and her body stiffening against the rhythm of the dance.
They were about to pass an opening, one of the corridors that
led back to the storage areas of the Weyr. He whirled them
in that direction despite her resistance, speaking in a persuas-
ively understanding tone.
'You're the rider of a young green and she's much too
young for any sexual stimulation. But I don't think a kiss will
do her any damage, and I've got to kiss you once before I
have to go to Benden.'
And he did so. The moment their lips touched, although
she tried to resist, the attraction that they each had for the
other made the contact electric. She could not have resisted
responding - even to preserve Morath's innocence.
Finally, breathless, they separated, but not by more than
enough centimetres to let air into their lungs. Her body hung
almost limply against his, and only because he was leaning
against the wall did he have the strength to support them both.
That's very nice, you know.
'Morath!' Debera jerked her body upright, though her
hands clenched tightly on his neck and shoulder. 'Oh... dear,
what have I done?'
'Not as much to her as you have to me,' Iantine said in a
shaky voice. 'She doesn't sound upset or anything.'
Debera pushed away to stare up at him - he thought she
had never looked so lovely.
'You heard Morath?'
'Hmmm, yes.'
'You mean, that wasn't the first time?' She was even more
startled.
'Hmmm. She knows my name, too,' he said, plunging in
with a bit of information that he knew might really distress
her, but now was the time to be candid.
Debera's eyes widened even more and her face had paled
in the glowlight of the corridor. She leaned weakly against
him.
'Oh, what do I do now?'
He stroked her hair, relieved that she hadn't just stormed
off, leaving all his hopes in crumbs.

28O

'I don't think we upset Morath with that little kiss,' he said
softly.
'Little kiss?' Her expression went blank. 'I've never been
kissed like that before in my life.'
Iantine laughed. 'Me neither. Even if you didn't want to
kiss me back.' He hugged her, knowing that the critical
moment had passed. 'I have to say this, Debera, I love you.
I can't get you out of my mind. Your face... and...' and
he added tactfully because it was also true, 'Morath's decorate
the margin of every sketch I draw. I'm going to miss you like
ú.. like you'd miss Morath.'
She caught in her breath at even the mention of such a
possibility.
'Iantine, what can I say to that? I'm a dragonrider. You
know that Morath is always first with me,' she said gently,
touching his face.
He nodded. 'That's as it should be,' he said, although he

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heartily wished he could be her sole and only concern.
'I'm glad you do know that but... I don't know what I
feel about you, Ian, except that I did like your kiss.' Her eyes
were tender and she glanced shyly away from him. 'I'm even
glad you did kiss me. I've sort of wanted to know...' she
said with a ripple in her voice, but still shy. 'So I can kiss you again?'
She put her hand on his chest. 'Not quite so fast, Iantine!
Not quite so fast. For my sake as well as Morath's. Because
ú..' and then she blurted out the next sentence, 'I know I'm
going to miss you... almost... as much as I'd miss Morath.
I didn't know a rider could be so involved with another
human. Not like this. And,' she increased her pressure on the
hand that held them apart because he wanted so to kiss her
for that, 'I can't be honestly sure if it's not because Morath
rather likes you, too, and is influencing me.'
I am not said Morath firmly, almost indignantly.
'She says...' Debera began as Iantine said, 'I heard that.'
They both laughed and the sensual tension between them
eased. He made quick use of the opportunity to kiss her,
lightly, to prove that he could and that he did understand

281

about Morath. He had also actually asked as many ques-
tions about rider liaisons as discretion permitted. What he'd
learned had been both reassuring and unsettling. There
were more ramifications to human affairs than he had ever
previously suspected. Dragonrider-human ones could get very
com- plicated. And the green dragons, being so highly-strung
and sexually oriented, were the most complex.
'I guess I'm lucky she talks to me at all,' Iantine said. 'Look,
love, I've said what I've wanted to say. I've heard what Morath
has to say, and we can leave it there for now. I've got to go
to Benden Hold and Morath has to... mature.' He gently
tightened his arms around his beloved. 'If I'm welcome to
come back... to the Weyr, I will return. Am I welcome?'
'Yes, you are,' Debera said as Morath also confirmed it.
'Well, then,' and he kissed her lightly, managing to break
it off before the emotion that could so easily start up again
could fire, 'let us dance, and dance and dance. That should
cause no problems, should it?'
Of course, the words were no sooner out of his mouth than
he knew that having her so close to him all evening was going
to be a trial of his self-control.
His lips tingled as he led her back, her fingers trustingly
twined into his. The dance was ending as he put his arms
around her, so they managed just one brief spin. Since he now
felt far more secure, he did let Leopol partner Debera for one
fast dance, or he'd never hear the last of it from the boy.
Other than that surrender, he and Debera danced together
all night, cementing the bond that had begun: danced until
the musicians called it a night.
He was going to hate to be parted from her, more now
because they did have an understanding - of sorts - but there
was no help for it. He had the duty to Benden Hold.

New Year 258 A(fter) L(anding) - College,
Benden Hold, Telgar Weyr

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On the first official day of the New Year, 258 AL, Clisser
had a chance to review the four days of Turn's End. Frantic
at times, certainly hectic despite the most careful plans
and the wealth of experience, the main performances - the
First Day 'Landing Suite', and Second Day Teaching Songs
and Ballads - had gone very well: far better than he had
anticipated given the scanty rehearsals available for some of
the performers. The tenor, for instance, had been a bit ragged
in his big solo; he really should have held that final note the
full measure. Sheledon glowered from the woodwind section:
he'd've sung the part himself, but he hadn't the voice for it.
But then, the only solos which Sheledon wouldn't find fault
with would be Sydra's, and she never failed to give a splendid
performance. Bethany's flute obbligatos had been remark-
able, matching Sydra's voice to perfection.
Paulin had been on his feet time after time, applauding the

283

soloists and, at the finale, surreptitiously brushing a tear from
his eye. Even old S'nan looked pleased - also fatuous, but on
the whole Clisser was relieved at the reception. He hoped
the two performances had been popular elsewhere on the
continent. A great deal of work had been put into rehearsals
by folks who had little spare time as it was.
The Teaching Songs and Ballads had been just as well
received, with people going about humming some of the
tunes. Which was exactly what the composers had hoped
for. Fortunately, honours were even between Jemmy and
Sheledon for catchy tunes. He caught himself humming the
'Duty Song' chorus, which had gone particularly well. He
wouldn't have to deal with a laborious copying of the Charter
once youngsters learned those words off by heart. It certainly
fitted the bill. Copies of all the new songs were being made
by the teachers themselves, who would then require their
students to transcribe them, and that saved a lot of effort for
his College.
Really, a printing press of some kind must be put high on
the list of Kalvi's engineering staff. They'd managed quite a
few small motor-driven, solar panel gadgets; why not a
printing press? But a printing press required paper and the
forests were going to be vulnerable for the next fifty years no
matter how assiduous the Weyrs were in their protective
umbrella.
One tangle of Thread could destroy acres of trees in the
time it took to get a ground crew to the affected area.
He sighed. If only the organics plastic machinery were still
operating... but the one unit housed in the Fort storage had
rusted in the same flooding that had ruined so much else.
'"Ours not to wonder what were fair in life",' he quoted to
himself, 'which is a saying I should have made up to remind
me that we've got what we've got and have to make do.'
He couldn't help but feel somewhat depressed, though.
There had been some high moments these last few days, and
it was hard to resume normal routine. Not everyone on the
teaching staff was back, though all should have checked in by
late evening. He'd hear then how the performances went

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elsewhere. He'd have to wait to learn how the new curriculum
was working. By springtime he'd know what fine tuning would
be needed. He could count on Sallisha for that, he was sure.
By springtime, Thread would fall and the easy pace they had
all enjoyed would be a memory.
Ah, that was what he had to do - he'd put it off long enough
- write up the roster for ground crews drafted from students
over fifteen and teachers. He'd promised that to Lord Paulin
and, what with everything else, never produced it. He pulled
a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer, then stopped, put
it back and picked up a sheet from the re-use pile. A clean
side was all he needed. Mustn't waste, or he'd want soon
enough.

Lady Jane herself led Iantine to his quarters, asking all the
gracious questions a hostess did: Where had he been for
Turn's End? Had he enjoyed himself? Had he had the
opportunity to hear the splendid new music from the College?
What instrument did he play? What did he hear from his
parents? He answered as well as he could, amazed at the
difference between his reception here and the one he'd had
at Bitra. Lady Jane was a fluttery sort of woman, not at all
what he would have expected as the spouse of a man like
Bridgely. She must be extremely efficient under all that flutter,
he thought, contrasting the grace, order and appearance of
the public rooms with those at Bitra, and seeing a vast
difference between the two.
No low-level living for him here, either. Lady Jane led him
on to the family's floor, urging the two drudges who were
carrying the canvases and skybroom wood panels to mind
their steps and not damage their burdens.
She opened the door, presenting him with the key, and he
was bemused as he followed her into a large day room, at
least ten times larger than the cubicle at Bitra, on the outside
of the Hold so that it had a wide, tall window facing north-
east. It was a gracious room, too, the stone walls washed a
delicate greeny-white, the furnishings well-polished wood,

285

with a pleasing geometric pattern in greens and beige on the
coverings.
'I do know that artists prefer a north light, but this is the
best we can do for you on that score . . .' Benden's Lady
fluttered her hands here and there. They were graceful, small
hands, with only the wide band of a spousal ring on the
appropriate finger. Another contrast to the Bitran tendency
to many gaudy jewels.
'It's far more than I expected, Lady Jane,' he said as
sincerely as he could.
'And I'm sure it's far more than you had at Bitra Hold,'
she said with a contemputous sniff. 'Or so I've been told. You
may be sure that Benden Hold would never place an artist of
your rank and ability with the drudges. Bitrans may lay claim,'
and her tone expressed her doubt, 'to having a proper
Bloodline, but they have never shown much couth!' She
noticed him testing the sturdiness of the easel. 'That's from

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stores. It belonged to Lesnour. D'you know his work?'
'Lesnour? Indeed.' Iantine dropped his hand from the
smoothly waxed upright. Lesnour, who'd lived well past the
hundred mark, had designed and executed Benden Hold's
murals and had been famed for his use of colour. He'd also
compiled a glossary of pigments available from indigenous
materials, a volume which Iantine had studied and which had
certainly helped him at Bitra.
Lady Jane pushed open the wooden door into the sleeping
room, which was not large but still generous in size. He could
see the large bed, its four posts carved with unusual leaves
and flowers: probably taken from Earth's botany. She pointed
at the back to. the third room of the suite: a private toilet and
bath. And the whole suite was warm. Benden had been
constructed with all the same conveniences that Fort Hold
boasted.
'This is much more than I need, Lady Jane,' Iantine said,
almost embarrassed as he dropped his carisak to the floor of
the day room.
'Nonsense! We know at Benden what is due a man of your
abilities. Space,' and she gave a graceful sweep of her hand

286

about the room, 'is so necessary to compose the thoughts and
to allow the mind to relax.' She did another complicated
arabesque with her hands and smiled up at him. He smiled
back at her, trying to act gracious rather than amused at her
extravagant manner. 'Now, the evening meal will be served
in the Great Hall at eight, and you'll dine at the upper table,'
she said with a firm smile to forestall any protests. 'Would
you care to have someone put at your disposal to help with
your materials?'
'No, thank you most kindly, Lady Jane, but I'm used to
doing for myself.' Maybe he could have borrowed Leopol for
a few weeks? There was certainly enough space for the boy
to be accommodated in with him.
So she left, after he had once again expressed his profuse
thanks for the courtesies.
He prowled about the rooms, then washed his hands and
face, learning that the water came very hot out of the spigot.
The bath had been carved out of the rock, deep enough for
him to immerse himself completely and sufficiently long to lie
flat out in the water. Even the Weyr had not such elegant
conveniences.
He unpacked his clothing so that the wrinkles would hang
out of his good green shirt and began setting up his workplace.
And then sat down in one of the upholstered chairs, plunked
his feet down on the footstool, leaned back and sighed. He
could get accustomed to this sort of living, so he could! Except
for the one lack - Debera.
He wondered briefly if Lady Jane would flutter while she
posed for him. And how would he pose her? Somehow he
must put in the flutter of her, but also her grace and charm.
He wondered what instrument she played with those small
hands. If only Debera weren't so far away...

Iantine might not have been pleased to know that Debera was
at that very moment the subject of discussion between the

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Weyrleaders at Telgar.
'No,' Zulaya was saying, shaking her head, 'she has more

287

sense than to jeopardize Morath. And I think Iantine would
not risk his standing with the Weyr in an indiscretion. I
understand from Leopol that Iantine wants to come back.
Tisha wasn't worried about that pair. They may have danced
'til the musicians quit, but they were visible all the time. Then,
too, Debera's hold-bred. Jule's the one I might be worried
about, especially since she and T'red have been weyrmates.'
'They're not now.*' K'vin asked sharply.
'Of course not,' and Zulaya dismissed his anxiety on that
and then grinned up at him. 'T'red's biding his time. He knows
he'd better.'
K'vin sighed and checked off another matter discussed with
Zulaya.
'Let's see - a tenth-month Hatching, so by this fourth
month, the greens won't be flying yet.'
'Oh, now, I'd say Morath might. If she keeps growing at
the same rate, her wings'11 be strong enough to test by late
spring. But we don't need to include the latest Hatching in
our calculations, K'vin,' she said, and leaned towards him and
the lists he was compiling. 'They've got all the site-recognition
training to do, the long-range flights to build wing-muscle. If
we don't need to force their training, let's not. We've got fifty
years to use them...'
'Have we?' and K'vin tossed his pencil to the table, leaning
back and sighing.
Zulaya reached a hand across to tap his arm reassuringly.
'Don't fret so, Kev,' she said. 'That can't change events. I
think that the group we're going to have trouble with is not
the babies but the elderlies. Those old riders're going to insist
on being assigned to fighting wings, you know.'
K'vin closed his eyes, shaking his head as if he could
somehow lose that problem.
'I know, I know,' he said, all too aware that he couldn't
avoid making a decision there. 'They'll be more of a liability
than the youngsters ever would - trying to show off that
they've lost nothing to their age.'
'Well, the dragons won't have,' she said and then, she too
sighed. 'But we can't baby them; that's not fair. And the

288

dragons' reflexes are as fast as ever. They'll protect their
riders...'
'But who'll protect the rest of the wing from slow reflexes?
You know how close Z'ran and T'lel came to disaster
yesterday morning?'
'They were showing off,' said Zulaya. 'Meranath chewed
out the two browns as if they were weyrlings.'
'We won't have time for that during a Fall... ' K'vin rubbed
the ache in the back of his neck. 'I've called a safety-strap
check for the entire Weyr.'
'Kev,' she said gently, 'we had one last week. Don't you
remember?'

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'We can't have enough,' he snapped back at her and then
shot her a look of apology.
'It's the waiting that's getting to you,' Zulaya said with a
rueful smile. 'To all of us.'
K'vin gave a snort. 'So do we pray that Thread falls early?'
'I wouldn't wish that on us, but we could legitimately go
south on an excursion...'
'NOT,' he objected emphatically, 'another AIVAS expedi-
tion.'
'No, no,' and she laughed at his vehemence, 'but we could
check on the Tubberman grubs: see how much further they
have penetrated. We should do so soon now anyhow, since
we're supposed to check on their spread. A trip away, out of
this cold, would lift spirits. After the excitement of Turn's
End, First Month is always a let-down. Who knows? We might
even find some of those spare parts Kalvi's always whingeing
about?'
'Spare parts?' K'vin asked.
'Yes, ones lost in the second Crossing storm.'
'Now that's a real lost cause,' said K'vin.
'Whether it is or not, it provides a training exercise in the
sun, away from here and all of that,' and she pointed at
the disorder of lists and reports on the table.
'Where would we go?' K'vin sat more upright in his chair,
examining the possibility.
'Well, we should check the original site at Calusa,' and she

289

retrieved the relevant chart from the storage cabinet and
brought it to the table. K'vin hastily cleared a space. 'Then
look along the Kahrainian coast where the Armada had a
long stop for repairs.'
'That's all been gone over so often...'
'And not much retrieved. Anyway, it's not so much what
we find but more that we went for a look,' Zulaya said with
a droll grin.
'The entire Weyr?'
'Well, the fighting wings, certainly. Leave the training ones
here, give them responsibility... and see how they like it.'
'J'dar had better be in charge,' K'vin said, glancing to see
if she agreed.
She shrugged. 'J'dar or O'ney.'
'No, J'dar.'
Oddly enough, she gave him a pleased smile. He hadn't
expected that, since she had specifically named O'ney, one of
the oldest bronze riders. He tried to defer to her judgment
whenever possible, but he'd noticed that O'ney tended to be
unnecessarily officious.
'Now, this is as far as grubs had migrated on last winter's
check,' she said, running her finger along Rubicon River.
'How're the grubs supposed to get across that?' K'vin asked,
tapping the contour lines for the steep cliffs which lined the
river, gradually tapering down above the Sea of Azov.
'The Agric guys say they'll either go around or be carried
across the river as larvi in the digestive tracts of wherries and
some of those sport animals that were let loose. They have
been breeding, you know.'
Zulaya was teasing now, since she knew very well that

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Charanth had had to rescue him from a very large, hungry
orange-and-black-striped feline. Charanth had been highly
insulted because the creature had actually then attacked him,
a bronze dragon! The incident had been a levelling one for
both rider and dragon.
'Oh, and don't I know it! I'll not be caught that way twice.'
'It grew a mighty fine hide,' she said, her eyes dancing with
challenge.

290

'Catch your own, Zu. Now, let's see . . . should we check
and see if any of the other Weyrs want to come? Make this
a joint exercise?'
'Why?' she countered with a shrug. 'The whole idea is to
get our wings away for a bit for something besides Fall
readiness. Meranath,' and she turned to her queen, who was
lounging indolently on her couch, her head turned in their
direction and her eyes open, 'would you be good enough to
spread the word that the Weyr's going off on exercise,' and
she grinned at K'vin, 'tomorrow, first light? That should
startle a few.'
'Undoubtedly,' and glancing at Zulaya for permission,
K'vin made a second request of Meranath. 'And ask J'dar
and T'dam to step up here, please?'
The sun ~vill be much warmer in the south, Meranath said,
and we will all like that, K'vin.
'Glad you approve,' he told her, giving the gold queen
a little bow. He was also considerably gratified that she
was using his name more. Could that mean that Zulaya was
thinking of him more often? He kept that question tight in
his mind, where even Charanth wouldn't hear it. Did she
really approve of his leadership? Zulaya never gave him any
clues despite her courtesies to him in public; though he
certainly appreciated that much. He didn't seem any closer to
a real intimacy with her, and he wanted one badly. Would he
ever figure out how to achieve that? Could that be why she
had suggested this excursion?
'How long has it been since there was an update on the
grubs?'
She shrugged. 'That's not the point. We need a diversion,
and this makes a good one. Also, someone should do it
for the Agric records. And we'll probably have to go down
during Fall to see if the grubs really do what they're supposed
to do.'
'Do you want to put us out of business?' he asked.
Zulaya shook her head. 'As long as Thread falls from
Pernese skies, we won't be out of business. Psychologically,
it's imperative that we keep as much of the stuff as possible

291

off the surface of the planet. The grubs are just an extra added
precaution; not the total answer.'
The two Weyrleaders had forgotten to caution their dragons
against mentioning the destination, and it was all over the
Weyr by dinner-time. They were besieged by requests from
weyrfolk to be taken along. Even Tisha was not shy about

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requesting a lift.
'Some of the bronzes would need to carry two passengers,'
K'vin said, doing some quick calculations.
'The weyrlings would have to stay,' Zulaya told him, that
necessity causing a brief hitch to the euphoria. But she
shrugged. 'We'll make an occasion for T'dam to take them
down once they are flighted, but they're weyrbound this time.'
'That wouldn't be until after Thread has started,' K'vin said,
looking doubtful.
'Sure, we know when it falls, north or south, and a day off
for the auxiliaries is no big thing. Plan it for a rainy day, here,'
Zulaya said, 'and they won't mind for the sun down south.'
So that issue was settled.
The entire Weyr assembled, loading passengers and
supplies for an outing that was now scheduled for three days.
K'vin allowed they would need that long to make a diligent
survey of grub penetration. He brought with him maps and
writing material so he could make accurate records.
The morning had its moment of humour: getting Tisha
aboard brown Branuth had been a struggle, involving not only
Branuth's rider, T'lel (who laughed so hard he had hiccups),
but four other riders, the strongest and tallest.
Branuth, an extremely quizzical expression on his long face,
craned his head around to watch and got a bad cramp in his
neck muscles doing so. T'lel and Z'ran had to massage him.
'Stop that and get up here, T'lel,' Tisha was yelling, her
thick legs stuck out at angles from her perch between the neck
ridges. 'I'll be split. And if I'm split, you'll suffer. I never
should have said I'd come. I should know better than to leave
my caverns for any reason whatsoever. This is very uncomfort-
able. Stop that guffawing, T'lel. Stop it right now. It isn't funny
where I'm sitting. Get up here and let's go!'

292

Getting Tisha aboard Branuth had taken so much time that
everyone else was in place and ready to go by the time T'lel
did manage to take his place in front of Tisha.
'Not only am I being split, I'm also been bisected by these
ridges. Did you sharpen them on purpose, T'lel? No wonder
riders are so skinny. They'd have to be. Don't dragons grow
ridges for large people? I should have had K'vin take me up.
Charanth is a much bigger dragon... Why couldn't you have
put me up on your bronze, K'vin?' Tisha shouted across the
intervening space.
K'vin was trying to preserve his dignity as Weyrleader by
not laughing at the sight of her, but he didn't dare look in her
direction again. Instead he swivelled his torso so he could scan
everyone, pleased to see all eyes on him, rider, passengers
and dragon. He peered upwards to the rim where more
dragons awaited their departure, poised well clear of the
newly positioned Eye and Finger Rocks. Now he raised his
arm.
Charrie, they are to assume their wing positions in the air.
They know, Charnath sounded petulant, for this was a
frequent drill. K'vin slapped his neck affectionately with one
hand while he gave his upheld right arm the pump.
All the dragons in the Bowl lifted, swirling up dust and grit
from the Bowl floor with a battery of wings, and then those

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on the Rim lifted, sorting themselves out in the air to form
their respective wings. Zulaya and the other queens rose
above the others.
And in formation in jig time, too. Let's go, Charrie.
With a great leap, Charanth was airborne. One wing-sweep
and he was level with the wings, another and he was in front
of the queens. Heads turned upwards and Charanth dutifully
angled himself earthward so that all could see the Weyrleader.
Inform the Weyr that our destination is the Sea of Azov.
I have!
K'vin pumped his arm in the continuous gesture to signal,
'Go between'! The entire Weyr blinked out simultaneously.
Steady, he cautioned Charanth, pleased with that disciplined
departure. Now we go!

293

Three seconds he counted, and then the warm air above
the brilliantly blue Sea of Azov was like the smack of a hot
towel in his face. Charanth rumbled in pleasure.
K'vin was far more interested in discovering that the ranks
of the dragons, wing by wing, had arrived still in formation.
He grinned.
Please inform the wingleaders to take their riders to their
separate destinations.
One by one the wings disappeared, with the exception of
T'lel's which had picked the Sea area for their excursion site.
The queens started to glide towards the shore too, for they
carried quite a few of the supplies which Tisha would need
to set up her hearths for the evening meal.
Let's wait and let them all get safely to the surface, K'vin
told Charanth, although part of him wanted to see how Tisha
managed to dismount Branuth. He was therefore somewhat
surprised, and at first a little concerned, when he saw a brown
dragon detach itself from the main wing and glide in a landing,
on the water, just short of the shore. Charanth had his head
down and was observing the effort.
Branuth says she ordered it. She's swimming free of his back.
Charanth sounded amused, too, and K'vin chuckled. That was much more
dignified.
Branuth says it was easier on him, too, but he doesn't think
he should do the same back at Telgar.
Not with the water that cold this time of year.
We can now land? Branuth says the sun is warm.
I thought you wanted to hunt.
Later. NOW I want to get warm all over.
Charanth's preference was almost unanimous as the
dragons spread out on both the pebbled beach and the shore
line which was covered with a shrub that, when bruised by
large dragon bodies, gave off a rich pungent odour which was
not at all unpleasant.
Tisha had some of the weyrfolk off finding kindling and
stones to make camp-fires, and to see what fruits might be
ripe, and another group set to fish where boulders had
tumbled down in to the Sea like a breakwater.

294

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'I'm going for a long swim,' Zulaya called out to him as he
and Charanth glided to a landing. She was already stripping
off her jacket. 'Meranath wants one, too.' She touched down
long enough to strip off the rest of her clothing, which she
left in a neat pile on a boulder before making her way to the
water.
'What about the grubs?'
'They'll wait,' she yelled over her shoulder, wading out until
the water was deep enough for swimming.
We don't have to go find grubs now, do ~ve? asked Charanth
plaintively, and the eyes he turned up to his rider whirled
with a yellow anxiety.
'No, we don't,' K'vin said. 'Grubs were an excuse to leave
the Weyr for a few days.'
He shucked his clothes and dragon and rider joined the
others in the warm Azovian waters.
It might not have pleased K'vin to learn that almost every
rider procrastinated over the stated objective of the journey
south: grubs were, in fact, probably the last thing on anyone's
mind. Sunning, swimming in the pleasant waters, hunting for
dragons and food-gathering for humans took precedence -
and space and time for absolute privacy.
P'tero and M'leng asked permission of V'last, their wing-
leader, to take their dragons hunting.
'Remember what K'vin told you about the sport creatures
down here,' V'last said, serving the same warning to the other
riders wishing to hunt their dragons.
P'tero and M'leng nodded obediently but, as soon as they
left the clearing where their wing had landed on the Malay
River, they laughed at the very notion that any creature could
be dangerous to their dragons.
'It's really hot here,' M'leng said, glancing back at the river.
'We'll be hotter after we've hunted the dragons,' said
P'tero. 'But once that's done, we really don't have to do
another thing until dinner.'
'So let's not come back here until just before,' M'leng
suggested, laughing recklessly. 'Or we'll end up having to hunt
or fish or gather.'

295

'There're enough weyrfolk with us to do all that - and
enjoy,' P'tero said, rather condescendingly. 'Let's get out
of here.'
He made a running jump and neatly vaulted onto Ormonth's
blue back. M'leng simultaneously boarded green Sith.
'What shall we go after?' M'leng asked.
'Whatever we see first,' P'tero replied and pumped his arm
to send them both aloft. M'leng preferred him to be leader.
They didn't have far to go to see grazing herds of runner
beasts, smaller than the ones they were accustomed to seeing
in the Holds. But when they also saw other dragons in the
sky, gliding in to hunt, P'tera signalled M'leng to fly on in a
south-westerly direction. They hadn't gone very far before
both found it necessary to strip off their flying jackets, and
then their shirts which were winter weight anyhow. P'tero
admired M'leng's compact body. The green rider was small-
boned, which had always delighted P'tero, with a surprisingly
strong and agile wiry frame. He was also winter-white, right

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to his collar. He looked so funny, as if he had two different
skins.
Then the blue rider became fascinated with the tropical
terrain around them, subtly different from the north's warmer
Holds. Nerat was rain forests and vast tracks of almost
impenetrable jungle except along the western side, whereas
Ista was sharp hills and deep valleys, also densely vegetated.
But here a vast grassland, similar in some respects to the plains
of Keroon, spread out in all directions, dotted by upthrusts
of bare yellow rock, occasional copses of angular trees with
fronds spilling from the crests, and large, wide branched trees
like islands. The dragons' flight over some of these caused
flocks of wherries and other avian forms to debouch in frantic
escape.
Can I eat them? Ormonth enquired of his rider, speeding
up in case he was allowed to give chase.
What? Those tough mouthfuls? P'tero asked scornfully.
Then he cupped his hands and shouted at M'leng: 'Ormonth's
hungry enough to eat wherries!'
'Sith wanted to, as well. We'd better feed them,' M'leng

296

yelled back. 'Over there!' and he pointed to one of the rock
piles. One of the spreading trees had grown right up against
the pile, shading the long incline to the top.
P'tero thought the formation looked like the prow of a ship,
with midships plunging into the sea of ground. And the tree
a muchly misplaced mast.
M'leng nodded vigorously in approval and pumped his arm,
nudging Sith into a wide curve so that they came up to the
prow to land. A fine breeze blew against them from the south,
cooling the perspiration on their bare torsos.
Immediately they landed, the two young men stripped off
their heavy flight pants and boots. They had to put their socks
back on, for the rock was far too hot for bare feet.
M'leng, who had good distance vision, covered his eyes with
one hand, peering to the west where a long dark line seemed
to be moving.
'Oh, good, herd beasts.' He hauled Sith's head round and
then pushed it in the right direction. 'See? You can eat those.
Much better than wherries. Off you go, now!' And he gave
Sith a thump of dismissal.
'Follow Sith, Ormonth,' and P'tero shoved the blue's head
to the right. 'Hunt with her and you can't get into any trouble
that way. We'll watch from here.'
Ormonth shifted weight from one diagonal to the other, his
whirling eyes with a trace of anxious yellow.
'What's the matter with you?' P'tero demanded, wanting
both dragons to be away so that he and M'leng could have
some real privacy. And if the pair were busy enough hunting
and eating, they'd pay no attention at all to what their riders
were doing.
Smell something!
'M'leng, does Sith smell anything?' P'tero was annoyed, but
you didn't ignore your dragon.
'Different smells down here, that's all.' M'leng shrugged,
his eager expression indicating that he wanted the dragons
away as much as P'tero did.

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'I'll keep my eyes open,' P'tero assured Ormonth and
slapped him peremptorily to be on his way.

297

The two launched upwards at the same moment and P'tero
watched with some pride in the blue's elegant flight attitude
as he made height before he would glide down towards his
prey.
M'leng slipped in under P'tero's arm.
'Oooh, your hide is hot. We'd best be careful not to burn
in this sun.'
'We'll be all right if we move a lot.'
'And we will, won't we.9'
They enjoyed each other's company so much that neither
was aware when the breeze altered to the west. It still cooled
their bare bodies, drying the sweat they had generated. They
weren't even aware of much until two things happened at
the same instant: Ormonth's angry scream reverberated in
P'tero's skull, and he was rammed down hard against M'leng
so that he cracked his chin on the rock as sharp things tore
into his buttocks.
'ORMONTH!' he shrieked mentally and vocally.
M'leng was limp under P'tero as he writhed in agony from
whatever was attacking him.
HELP ME! he howled, struggling to turn and see that was
trying to eat him!
A dark shadow, and the air pressure above him seemed
compressed; a most hideous roar sent a carrion stink and hot
breath across his bare back! The talons were ripped from his
flesh, causing him to shriek again. Something heavy and furry
was being hauled across his tortured legs and away! He caught
a glimpse of green hide and then blue... And then something
large and tawny that seemed to come from nowhere. A blue
tail curled protectingly around him. Above his head he heard
Ormonth roaring, which turned to shrieks of pain and anger,
but mostly anger. He was mentally assailed by vivid images
and emotions of revenge that were totally alien to a dragon
mind.
As waves of almost unendurable agony gripped him, he
realized that Ormonth and Sith were rending whatever had
attacked him into shreds; showering blood and gobbets of hot
flesh all over him. Then he realized that he was lying on top

298

of M'leng, who was suddenly being pulled away. To his
horrified eyes, he saw a great brown paw, dirty big yellow
claws unsheathing and curling into his weyrmate's back, blood
welling up. Despite the pain in his legs and back, he lurched
across M'leng and beat at the paw, struggling to lift the claws
out of his lover's body.
More noise, more draconic roars, and suddenly there was
space above him, letting in fresh air and the sight of other
dragons. Two were attacking the tawny lean creatures that
were swarming up the rock out-thrust. The dragons hauled
them backwards by their tails or hind quarters while the
creatures writhed and roared and spat defiance, turning to

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attack the dragons. One had curled itself around a brown's
forearm, slashing out at a dragon face.
'M'leng, M'leng, answer me!' P'tero cried, turning his
lover's face towards him, slapping his cheeks. Booted feet stopped by
M'leng's head.
'Oh help us, help us!' he pleaded, clutching at the boots.
'Help me! I'm dying!' The pain in his legs was so awful...
'Who's got the fellis? Where's the numbweed?'
As P'tero felt himself slipping into oblivion, he wondered
how under the sun Zulaya had got here, and if he was dying.

299

Cathay, Telgar Weyr, Bitra Hold, Telgat

P'tero didn't die, although for some days he wished he had.
The shame of being attacked, of endangering M'leng, of being
responsible for the injury of nine dragons - when K'vin had
particularly warned everyone to be careful - was almost more
than he could bear. M'leng might say that P'tero had saved
his life - although he had to have his chest wound stitched -
but P'tero knew that was incidental in the sequence of the
attack. Both Sith and Ormonth had suffered from the fangs
and claws of the attacking felines, for the creatures had not
been easily quelled. Meranath nursed a bite on her left
forearm and a slash on her cheek. P'tero hadn't yet been able
to look Zulaya in the eye. V'last's Collith's worst injuries were
his forearm, gashed to the bone by the powerful hindlegs of
the female attacking him. The dragon-lion battle had been
fierce while it lasted, for the lions had no fear of the dragons
and the entire pride of some fourteen adult beasts had joined
battle with them.

300

Meranath had reacted instantly to Ormonth's shriek - in
fact, so quickly that she actually left Zulaya behind. The
Weyrwoman had been astonished: dragons simply didn't
do that. Though later, Leopol told P'tero, she had laughed
about it - since she'd been swimming and would not have
appreciated being hauled dripping wet to companion her
dragon. She'd followed, quickly enough, with V'last, K'vin
and others who answered the mayday call.
'She was some put out, too,' Leopol went on, relishing the
telling, ~because the dragons made a mess of good lion fur
ú.. well, what they didn't eat.'
'The dragons ate the lions?' P'tero gasped.
'Sure, why not?' Leopol shrugged, grinning. 'The entire
pride attacked the' dragons. But they let the cubs go, you
know, though some folks thought they ought to get rid of all
they could find. V'last said Collith said they were quite tasty,
if a bit tough to chew, Waste not, want not. But Zulaya really
would have liked a lion fur for her bed.'
P'tero shuddered. He never wanted anything to do with
lions ever again.
'You shoulda seen yourself brought in, P'tero,' Leopol

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added, gesturing to the temporary quarters which had been
set up to tend the badly injured riders. 'Charanth himself
carried you back in his arms.'
'He did?' P'tero's chagrin reached a new depth.
'And O'ney's bronze Queth brought M'leng in. Your wing
helped Ormonth and Sith back. Actually, they came in sort
of piggy-back on Gorianth and Spelth. They were pretty
shaken, you know.'
P'tero had heard echoes of that journey from Ormonth who,
bless his heart, had never once criticized his rider: another
source of infinite distress to P'tero. The blue had been
intensely grateful to his weyrmates for their assistance, as he
couldn't leave his rider out of his sight. It had been all the
other dragons could do - although Leopol did not relate this
- to reassure Ormonth and Sith that neither of their riders
would die.
The Weyr had set up a hasty camp to tend the injured for

301

some, like P'tero and Collith, couldn't risk being taken
between until their wounds had scabbed over. K'vin had
sent to Fort for Corey to stitch the worst injuries. Maranis,
the Weyr medic, was more than competent for the dragons'
wounds, but he needed reassurance on his treatment of
the two injured riders. Messengers had gone back to Telgat
Weyr to reassure those whose dragons had reported the
accident and to bring back more equipment for an extended
stay.
In their innocence, the two young riders had chosen a site
just above the cave home of a pride of lions. P'tero had never
even heard of 'lions'. Evidently he could thank Tubberman
for their existence, for they'd broken out of Calusa and bred
quite handily in the wild. They were, Leopol told him with
great relish, some of the sport beasts that Tubberman had
been experimenting with. They had got loose, after killing
Tubberman.
This was not much consolation to P'tero while he lay on
his stomach to let the deep fang and claw-marks heal.
He worried endlessly that M'leng would no longer love him,
with such a scarred and imperfect body. M'leng, however,
seemed to dwell so on P'tero's heroism in protecting him with
his own body that the blue rider decided not to mention
the fact that it had been entirely involuntary. M'leng had
been unconscious from the moment of attack, and had a great
lump and a cut on the back of his head as well as the chest
wound.
Zulaya had arrived to see P'tero trying to remove the claws
from M'leng's back, so there was little the blue rider could
say to contradict the Weyrwoman's version.
Tisha, coming to give him fellis early one morning, found
him in tears, positive that he had lost M'leng with such a
marred body.
'Nonsense, my lad,' Tisha had said, soothing back his
sweaty hair as she held the straw for his fellis juice to his lips.
'He will only see what you endured for his sake, to save him.
And those scars will heal quite nicely, thanks to Corey's neat
stitching.'

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3O2

The reference to the skill of the Head Medic almost reduced
him to tears again. He'd caused so much fuss, he said.
'Indeed you have, but you've livened things up consider-
ably, young man, and taught everyone some valuable lessons.'
'I have?' P'tero would just as soon not have done.
'For one, dragons think they're invulnerable... and they
aren't. A very good lesson to take into Fall with them, I
assure you. Cool some of the hot-heads, so certain that
it's just a matter of breathing fire in the right direction.
For another, the southern continent has developed its own
hazards . . .'
'Did the Weyr ever find out about the grubs?' P'tero asked,
suddenly recalling the reason for the excursion.
Tisha burst out laughing, then stifled it though P'tero's tent
was a distance from any others. 'There, lad, you've a good
head as well as a brave heart. Yes, they completed the survey
faster'n any other's ever been done.'
P'tero learned later that the grubs had infested yet a
few more kilometres westward and southward towards the
Great Barrier Range in an uneven wave of expansion. Their
progress into the sandy scrublands east of Landing had slowed
to a few metres, but the agricultural experts were not partic-
ularly concerned; they were more eager to hav,~ the rich grass
and forest lands preserved.
'So the trip hasn't been a waste?' P'tero asked, relaxing as
he felt the fellis spreading out.
Tisha gave him more maternal pats, settling the furs
and making sure nothing was binding across his bottom and
legs.
'By no means, 1ovey. Now you go back to sleep...'
As if he could prevent that, P'tero thought as the fellis took
over and blotted out conscious thought as well as the pain.

It was three weeks before P'tero's wounds had healed suffi-
ciently for the trip back. The makeshift infirmary had more
patients since there were other hazards besides large, hungry
and territorially-minded felines in the southern continent: the

303

heat, unwary exposure to too much sun, and a variety of other
minor injuries. Leopol got a thorn in his foot which had
festered, so that he joined P'tero in the infirmary shelter until
the poison drained.
Tisha and one of the weyrfolk came down with a fever that
had Maranis sending back to Fort for a medic more qualified
than he in such matters. The woman recovered in a few days
but Tisha had a much harder time of it, sweating kilos off her
big frame, to leave her so enervated Maranis was desperately
worried about her. K'vin sent to Ista to beg a ship to transport
her back north, since he could not subject her to trying to
climb aboard a dragon.
Her illness depressed everyone.
'You don't really know how important someone is,' Zulaya
said, having come down to reassure herself on the state of the
convalescents, 'until they're suddenly... not there!'

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Her remark quite sank P'tero's spirits. And Tisha was not
there to jolly him out of his depression. But M'leng was, and
appeared in the shelter.
'How dare you be so self-centred?' the green rider said in
a taut, outraged tone of voice. 'Huh?'
'Tisha's illness is not your fault. Leopol wasn't wearing
shoes when he was told to, and so his infected foot also isn't
your fault. In fact, it isn't even your fault that we picked that
rock out of all the ones we could have picked. It was bad luck,
but nothing more, and I don't want to have Ormonth upsetting
Sith any more. D'you hear me?'
P'tero burst into tears. Just as he'd thought: M'leng didn't
love him any more.
Then M'leng's gentle arms went around him, and he was
pulled to M'leng's lightly bandaged back and comforted with
many caresses and kisses.
'Don't be such a stupid idiot, you stupid idiot! How could
I not love you?'
Later, P'tero wondered how he could ever have doubted
M'leng.
When the convalescents did return to Telgar Weyr, they

304

found Tisha once more in charge of the Lower Caverns. If
her clothes were still loose on her frame, she was tanned from
the sea voyage back from the mouth of the Rubicon and
looked completely recovered.
Some of the green and blue riders in the wing had freshened
up both P'tero's and M'leng's weyrs, with paint and new
fabrics. The worn pillows had been replaced with plump
ones.
'Because Tisha said you'd need to sit real soft for a while
longer,' and Z'gal sniggered into his hand. 'Lady Salda let us
have feathers from the Turn's End birds.'
Then Z'gal's lover, T'sen, brought an object from behind
his back. P'tero stared at it, puzzled. It seemed to be a pad
with very long thongs. 'Ah, what is it?'
Z'gal went into a laughing fit which annoyed T'sen, who
scowled and kept pushing it to P'tero.
'To sit on, of course. It'll fit between neck ridges. We
measured.'
Belatedly, but as effusively as he could, P'tero thanked
T'sen for such a thoughtful gift. It wasn't so much his bottom
that needed padding, but the muscles in the buttocks and
down his legs that needed strengthening and massage to get
them back in full working order. Of course, M'leng had been
assiduous in the massage sessions, but P'tero was now con-
cerned that he'd be fit for fighting when Threadfall began.
M'leng had been wounded in a much better site; he wouldn't
miss a day's fighting.
There was wine, biscuits and cheese for a small in-weyr
party. M'leng capped the return celebrations by presenting
P'tero with a flat, wrapped parcel.
M'leng's eyes were shining in anticipation as P'tero untied
the string, wondering what on earth this could be.
'Iantine's back, you know,' M'leng said, breathlessly watch-
ing every movement of P'tero's hands.
The other riders were equally excited and P'tero felt a spurt

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of petulance that they all knew what this was and were dying
to see his reaction.

305

Naturally, the picture was face down when he finished
unwrapping. P'tero was stunned silent when he turned it over
and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the scene
depicted.
'But... but... Iantine wasn't even there!'
'He's so good, isn't he?' Z'gal said. 'Did he get it all right?
M'leng described it over and over...'
P'tero didn't quite know what to say - he was so bewildered.
So much of it was what he would have given his right arm to
have actually happened. The lion was clawing his backside,
M'leng was sprawled under him, and there were more lions
climbing up the rock, their vicious intent vivid in their posture,
their open mouths showing fangs longer than a dragon's.
P'tero was posed in an obvious act of defending his lover, his
head turned, one arm upraised in a fist aimed at the attacking
lion's head. But that wasn't the worst of the inaccuracies: both
riders were fully clothed.
'P'tero?' M'leng's voice was quite anxious.
The blue rider swallowed. 'I don't know what to say!'
Where am I? Ormonth wanted to know, evidently viewing
it through his rider's eyes as a dragon sometimes could.
'There!' and P'tero pointed to the dragons high up in the
sky, wings straight up in a landing configuration, claws
unsheathed, ready to grab the attacker, eyes a mad whirl of
red and orange.
'Of course, I was unconscious,' M'leng was saying, 'but
that's what Ormonth and Sith would have been doing. Wasn't
it?' And he jabbed P'tero warningly.
'Exactly,' P'tero said hurriedly. And it probably was,
although he hadn't seen it since he'd been looking in the other
direction. 'Everything happened so fast... it's almost eerie
how Iantine has got it all down in one scene!' The amazement
and respect in his voice was not the least bit feigned.
'Now,' and M'leng pointed to the wall, 'we've even got a
hook for you to hang it on.'
'Wouldn't you rather have it?' P'tero suggested hopefully.
'I've a copy of my own. Iantine did two, one for each of
us,' M'leng said, beaming proudly at his lover.

3O6

So P'tero had to hang the wretched reminder of the worst
day of his life on his own wall, just where he couldn't miss it
every morning of his life when he woke up.
'You'll never know how much this means to me,' he said
and that, too, was quite truthful.
No-one thought it the least bit odd that he got very, very
drunk on wine that night.

lanath comes, Charanth told his rider.
'So Meranath tells me,' Zulaya said before K'vin could
speak. 'He wants to know all about our trip south.'
'I thought he'd given up on that notion to practice on

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the first Falls in the South,' K'vin said. He tried to sound
diffident.
Then Zulaya put a finger across her lips and pointed to the
sleeping Meranath, a signal to K'vin to guard his thoughts to
Charanth outside on the ledge. He nodded understanding.
'You don't fool me, Kev,' and then she waggled her finger
at him. 'You and B'nurrin would give your eye-teeth to be in
on the first real Fall - even if it does take place in the South
where nothing could be hurt. Or, for that matter, saved.'
'The grubs haven't spread across the entire southern con-
tinent, you know.'
'That has nothing to do with seeing Thread for the first time
in two hundred years.'
He answered her droll smile with an abashed grin.
'We don't need to have the dragons stoked up or anything,'
he said.
'Yes, but do you really want to have S'nan reproaching you
for the rest of your career? That is, if you have one as a
Weyrleader with this sort of antic in mind.'
K'vin gave her a long look. 'And don't tell me you like the
fact that Sarrai will be leading a queen's wing in Falls before
you will.'
Zulaya rocked back in her chair just enough for K'vin to
realize he had made a palpable hit. She was honest enough
to grin back.

307

'We don't even know that's what's on B'nurrin's mind,'
she said.
That's exactly what was, however, even after both Zulaya
and K'vin enumerated the problems they'd had on that
ill-favoured excursion to the southern continent. However,
almost the first thing B'nurrin did was a repetition of Zulaya's
signal to shield their thoughts from their dragons.
'In the first place, we wouldn't be landing anywhere. And
I don't mean for whole wings to go, Kev,' B'nurrin said, 'not
like it makes sense to do with the first actual Falls we do get
- wherever that actually is...'
'... And you're hoping S'nan doesn't get first go...' Zulaya
said with a malicious grin.
'Too right on that,' B'nurrin agreed in a sour tone. 'He
really gets up my nose, you know. I don't see any harm in
having a look. I mean . . .' He paused, steeling himself a
moment and staring straight into K'vin's eyes, 'I'll be frank.
I'm scared I'll be needing clean pants half a dozen times the
first Fall I have to lead...'
'I've wondered about that myself,' K'vin admitted drolly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he was rather surprised to notice
a fleeting expression of approval on Zulaya's face. Surely
B'ner had never mentioned that even as a remote possibility?
'So, I figure, if I get a good look at it before I have to act
brave and unconcerned...'
'Anyone who isn't concerned about Thread's a damn fool,'
Zulaya put in.
'Agreed.' B'nurrin nodded at her, grinning. 'So, will you
join me?'
'Because if two of us go, neither of us will be as much to
blame?' K'vin asked, one eye on Zulaya's face.

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B'nurrin scratched his jaw. 'Yes, I guess that's the size
of it.'
'We're the first you've asked?'
B'nurrin gave a snort. 'Well, I certainly wouldn't suggest it
again to S'nan after the way he's clapped my ears back twice
now. I figured you were more likely to than D'miel, though,
you know, I think M'shall might come. If the weather's wrong

3O8

at Fort and High Reaches, Benden's might be the first actual
Fall we meet.'
'M'shall might just be amenable at that,' Zulaya said,
'though he's the last one of the whole lot of you to doubt his
abilities.'
'That's true enough,' said B'nurrin, then his enthusiasm got
the better of him. 'But look at it this way, even if old S'nan
gets to fight this Pass's first Fall over Fort, we'll have been to
one before him, so to speak.' The Igen Weyrleader grinned
with such boyish delight in the scheme that K'vin had to
chuckle.
'How long is there between Southern's first and ours?' he
asked. He was astonished to see that Zulaya was already
unrolling Telgar Weyr's Thread chart onto the table.
'Roughly two weeks,' she said.
'So we could have gone and seen and not jeopardized the
readiness of our own Weyrs,' B'nurrin said, adding one more
argument in favour of his idea.
'The first possible Fall over Fort is number seven. Number
four is over the Landing Site,' Zulaya went on, tapping her
finger on the various Thread corridors. 'Five's no good, but
six starts offshore of the mouth of Paradise River, not far from
where we just were.'
'What about the first three?' B'nurrin asked, craning his
neck to see. 'Oh, not really as good for good coordinates, are
they?' Then he looked up in a direct challenge at K'vin. 'Will
you join me?'
'I'd like to,' K'vin said decisively, pointedly not looking in
Zulaya's direction.
'I think I would, too,' she said, surprising both men. When
they regarded her in amazement, 'Well, queens' wings fly a
lot lower into danger than the rest of the Weyr does. Makes
it quicker for me to change my pants, but that doesn't mean
I want to have to.' Then, when they grinned with relief at her,
'So, does Shanna want to come, too?'
Grinning even more broadly, B'nurrin said, 'Only if you
were going.'
'At least one of you at Igen Weyr has some sense,' said

309

Zulaya. 'Let's just sit on the idea for a few days. Just to be
sure.'
'Who will know, if we don't mention it?' B'nurrin asked,
swivelling around to pointedly regard a sleeping Meranath.

Paulin took Jamson with him to Bitra Hold. The older
Lord Holder was still furious with his son for voting High

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Reaches Hold in the impeachment. But he had been unable
to fault his son's management during his two-month con-
valescence. This had indeed restored Jamson to vigorous
health, if not tolerance.
The change in Bitra was obvious from the moment Magrith
dropped to the courtyard and Vergerin hurried down the steps
to greet his guests. He had been alerted.
S'nan had insisted on being allowed to convey the two
Lords Holder, for he had been as stunned by the impeachment
as Jamson.
'My word!' the Fort Weyrleader said, staring about him.
Magrith was staring too, and Paulin had to suppress a grin
since the dragon was looking in one direction, his rider in
the other.
The courtyard was neat and the recent snow swept from
the paving which showed fresh cement grouting. The road, in
either direction, was no longer bordered by straggling bushes
and weed trees. The row of cotholds sported fresh roof slates,
repaired chimneys and painted metal shutters, all obviously
in good working order. Although some of the upper windows
were already shuttered tight, the faqade was no longer
festooned with dead vine branches. Sunlight glinted off solar
panels that had been cleaned and repaired.
Piled under a newly built shed were HNO3 tanks, racked
for easy usage, with the hoses and nozzles hung properly on
pegs. Kalvi had told Paulin that he'd been asked to deliver
the Bitran consignment within a week of Vergerin taking
Hold. And the following week he had sent his best teachers
to instruct in their use and maintenance.
Vergerin wore a good tunic over his trousers, but they were

310

made of stout material and he had obviously been working
before his guests arrived. He greeted Paulin affably and
responded courteously to the introduction to Jamson, whose
response was frosty.
'You've done a lot since you took over, Vergerin,' Paulin
said, giving the man the encouragement of his public support.
'I wouldn't have believed it possible, frankly.'
'Well,' and Vergerin grinned in the most charming way, 'I
f6und Chalkin's hoard, so I've been able to hire in craftsmen.
Even the nearest holders aren't accustomed to me yet and
... timid?'
'Scared, more likely,' said Paulin dryly.
'That, too, I'm sure, but I've done what I can to supply
them with materials to make their own repairs. The Hold was
in an appalling state, you know.'
Jamson grunted, but his eyes widened as he saw the quiet
order and cleanliness of the first reception room. S'nan made
approving noises deep in his throat and even ran a finger
across the wide table with its attractive arrangement of winter
berries and leaves. A drudge, in livery so new the creases
hadn't been lost, was hurrying across the hall with a heavy
tray.
'My office is quite comfortable,' and Vergerin gestured for
them to enter.
Paulin noticed that the heavy wooden door gleamed with
oil and the brass door plates were polished to a high gloss.

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The interior had been totally replaced, with work-tops, tidy
shelving and bookcases. A scale map of Bitra Hold was nailed
up on the interior wooden wall; beneath that was the northern
continent and, oddly enough, the Steng Valley. Did Vergerin
plan to reopen the mines there? A fire burned on the hearth,
three upholstered chairs cosily arranged, while a low table
evidently awaited the tray. Polished metal vases on the deep
window-ledge held arrangements of bright orange berries
and evergreen boughs: altogether a different room under
Vergerin's management.
'There's klah, an excellent broth which I do recommend,
and wine, mulled or room temperature,' Vergerin said,

311

gesturing for his three guests to take the comfortable
chairs.
'You've a new cook as well, Vergerin?' Paulin asked, and
pointed to the steaming pitcher when Vergerin grinned. 'I'll
sample the broth, then.'
Jamson didn't mind if he did, too, but S'nan wanted the
klah.
'You remember the back staircase, Paulin.9' Vergerin asked,
taking the broth as well and pulling up a straight chair for
himself.
'I do. Was that where the marks were hidden?'
'Yes, in one of the steps.' Vergerin chuckled. 'Chalkin must
have forgotten that I knew about that hidey-hole, too. It's
been a life-saver, both to return unnecessary tithings and to
buy in supplies. One thing Chalkin did do correctly was keep
records. I knew exactly how much he had extorted from his
people.'
Jamson cleared his throat testily.
'Well, he did, Lord Jamson,' Vergerin said without
cavil. 'They hadn't even enough in stores to get by on this
winter, let alone have reserves for Fall. I'm still unloading
what we couldn't possibly use from what Chalkin had
amassed.' 'Vergerin gave a mirthless laugh. 'Chalkin would
have weathered all fifty years of the Pass from what he had
on hand . . . but none of his people would have lasted the
first year. Let alone have the materials to safeguard what they
could plant out. Bitra being established after the First Fall,
there were no hydroponics sheds although the tanks are
stored below.'
Jamson gave another snort. 'And the gaming? Have you
curtailed that?'
'Both here and elsewhere,' Vergerin said, flushing a little.
'I haven't so much as touched dice or card since that game
with Chalkin.'
'What about his gamesmen?'
Vergerin's smile was grim. 'They had the choice of signing
new contracts with me - for I will not honour the old ones -
or leaving. Not many left!'

312

S'nan barked out a cackle of a laugh. 'Not many would,
considering the hazards of being holdless during a Pass. You

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have done well, Vergerin.' He nodded in emphasis.
'You've had a second chance, Vergerin,' Jamson said,
waggling his finger, 'so see that you continue to profit by such
good fortune.' He had finished the broth and now stood. 'We
will go on a quick survey of the holds, if you please.'
'Of course,' and Vergerin rose hastily, pushing back his
chair. 'By horse...'
'No, no.' Jamson dismissed that. 'You've no need to
accompany us. Better if you don't.'
'Now, Jamson,' Paulin began, for it was discourteous of the
High Reaches Holder even to suggest Vergerin stay behind.
'Certainly, as you wish.' Vergerin motioned them to pause
at the map and indicated directions. 'We've managed to
complete all the necesssary repairs on the holds adjacent
to or not far from the major link roads. Those high up have
had to wait on supplies. I can't overdo my welcome at Benden
Weyr, though M'shall has been far more obliging than I
thought he'd be.'
'It's to his advantage to oblige,' S'nan said stiffly, at the
merest hint of criticism of a Weyrleader.
Jamson had opened the door into the Hall and stopped so
short, staring at the opposite wall, that Paulin nearly walked
up his heels. Jamson muttered something under his breath
and, pointing at the wall, turned to Vergerin.
'Why under the sun are you hanging his portrait there?' he
demanded, almost outraged.
Paulin and S'nan peered in the direction indicated.
And Paulin had to laugh.
'When did Iantine get a chance to... redo it.9' he asked
Vergerin, who was also broadly grinning.
'I got it yesterday,' and he walked across the Hall to stand
beneath it. 'I think the likeness is now excellent.'
There was a moment of silence as they all viewed the
portrait, now altered to an honest representation of the former
Bitran Lord - close-set eyes, bad complexion, scanty hair and
the mole on his chin.

313

S'nan sniffed. 'Why would you want his face around at all,
Vergerin?'
'One, to remind me to improve my management of Bitra,
and two, because it's traditional to display the likenesses of
previous Lord Holders.' He gestured up the double-sided
staircase where hung the portraits of previous incumbents.
Jamson harumphed several times. 'And Chalkin? How's he
doing?'
Paulin shrugged and looked to S'nan, for only dragonriders
could get to the exile's island.
'He was supplied with all he needs. There is no need to
exacerbate his expulsion by further contact.'
'And his children?' Jamson asked, eyes glinting coldly.
Vergerin grinned, ducking his head. 'I feel they have
improved in health, well-being and self-discipline.'
'They stood in great need of the latter,' Paulin added.
'They may surprise you, Lord Paulin,' Vergerin said with
a sly smile.
'I could bear it.'
'As the branch is bent, so it will grow,' Jamson intoned

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piously.
'Come this way,' Vergerin said, putting a finger to his lips
to indicate silence.
He led them down the corridor, towards what Paulin
remembered as one of the gaming rooms. They could hear
muted singing: Paulin instantly recognized the melody as one
of the College's latest issues. As they got closer to the source,
he heard the words of the 'Duty Song.' Jamson gave another
one of his harumphs and sniffed.
Carefully Vergerin opened the door on a mightily altered
room. The students - and there were far more of them than
Paulin had expected - were seated with their backs to the
door. The teacher - and Paulin was surprised to recognize
Issony back at Bitra - gave an additional nod to his head to
acknowledge their presence as he continued to beat the tempo
of the song.
Children's voices - even those who couldn't carry the tune
- are always appealing; perhaps it is the innocence of the tone

314

and the guilelessness in their rendition of the song's dynamics.
Even Jamson smiled, but then the verse they were singing was
about the Lord Holder's responsibilities.
'Which ones are Chalkin's?' Paulin whispered to Vergerin.
He pointed, and only then could Paulin pick out the children
in the front rows: the girls on the one side and the boys on
the other. They were much better clothed than the others but
no less attentive to their teacher, and singing lustily: the older
girl had the most piercing voice. Somewhat like her mother's,
Paulin thought.
Vergerin motioned for them to withdraw, grinning.
'Issony's been right that those youngsters needed com-
petition. The holder kids need no incentives; they want to
learn, and Chaldon is determined not to let mere holders get
better grades than he. Oh, there's still whinings and pleadings
and tantrums, but Issony has my permission to deal with them.
And he does. Most effectively.' 'Nadona?' Paulin asked.
Vergerin raised his eyebrows. 'She's learning much the
same lessons as her children, but she's not as quick a
study, as Issony would say. She has her own quarters,' and
he inclined his head towards the upper levels. 'She stays
within.'
'And leaves you to get on with the real work?' Paulin asked
in a droll tone. 'Exactly.'
'Hmm, yes, well, that's it here, I think,' Paulin said, and
then made much of fastening his riding jacket to indicate his
willingness to depart on the inspection tour. 'Do you agree,
Jamson?'
Jamson harumphed, but the fact that he did not have
questions Paulin took as a good sign.
When they left the house, men and women were busy
putting on the flame-thrower tanks.
'I've scheduled a drill. Have to make up for lost time, you
know,' Vergerin said by way of explanation. Jamson and S'nan
exchanged such fatuous glances that Paulin did his best not
to laugh out loud. Vergerin caught his eye and winked, then

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315

bade a polite farewell to his guests before he returned to the
ground crew.
'Well, he obviously learned a thing or two,' Jamson said in
a sanctimonious tone as they went down the steps to the
waiting bronze dragon.
'Yes, it would seem he has,' S'nan said, and then frowned
slightly. 'Although I cannot like him turning loose Chalkin's
gamesmen. They'll cause trouble at Gathers, mark my words.'
'No more than they've always done,' Paulin said, giving
Jamson a discreet helping hand up Magrith's tall shoulder.
'Probably less without Chalkin exhorting them to squeeze
more out of innocent and guileless holders.'
'No gambling should be allowed for any reason in a Weyr,'
said S'nan, as portentous as ever.
Paulin mounted silently, hoping that these two would see
sufficient in a quick swoop to reassure them about Vergerin's
worth - and the wisdom of Chalkin's impeachment. The brief
visit had satisfied him . . . especially the sight of Chalkin's
much improved portrait. He must send a message to Iantine
at Telgar Weyr; Bridgely had said the artist had returned there
as soon as he was finished at Benden Hold and enquired when
he and his spouse could hope to have a sitting.
During the rest of the inspection circuit, Paulin addressed
the more important problem of subtly reinstating Gallian in
his father's favour. Paulin didn't know if it was working, and
probably wouldn't until Jamson died and the succession
was in question. There were so many instances of visible
repairs and clearings that Jamson could certainly see how poor
a Holder Chalkin had been. For once, S'nan's critical com-
ments were a positive encomium of Vergerin's effort at taking
Hold.
Paulin was well pleased he had taken the trouble to
accompany Jamson. He hoped Lady Thea would be able
to tell him that Gallian was off the hot seat.

'You are not saving the entire world from Threadfall by
yourself, P'tero,' said K'vin, glaring up at the young blue rider.

316

He was nearly beside himself with rage at P'tero's utter
disregard of common sense. 'You are not going to impress
M'leng. If this is how you see your role in Threadfall, I think
you'll be a long time on messenger duty.' 'But, but...'
'Furthermore,' and K'vin pointed a finger fiercely under
the boy's nose, 'Maranis tells me that your wounds are not
well enough healed for you to be back on duty.'
'But... but...' and P'tero, eyes wide with fright, recoiled
from his Weyrleader's fury, clutching the neck ridge before
he over-balanced. The pad which T'sen had given him now
slipped, the ties torn loose some time during the exercises.
Blood spotted it.
'Get down here,' K'vin roared, pointing to where he wanted
P'tero: on the ground. 'Right now.'
P'tero obeyed as promptly as he could, but he was stiff from
sitting so long during the day's manoeuvres and from the

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barely healed flesh of his buttocks.
K'vin caught him by the shoulder and whirled him around.
'Not only new blood, but old stains,' he said, his voice
trenchant with scorn and fury. 'You're off duty...'
'But . . . but . . . Thread's nearly here!' P'tero cried in
anguish, almost in tears with frustration and the fear of being
unable to show M'leng just how brave he really was. Not
mock-brave, like the lion attack, but brave in the air.
~And Thread'11 be here for fifty years, young man. That's
plenty long enough for it to fear you and Ormonth in the air!
Report to Maranis immediately. You're grounded!'
'But I have to be in the first Fall wings,' P'tero cried,
anguished.
'That wasn't the way to get there. Go to Maranis!'
K'vin didn't wait to see if P'tero obeyed. He stormed across
the Bowl, the temptation to shake sense into the blue rider
so intense that he had to put distance between them.
Ormonth tried to keep him from flying today, Charanth
informed his rider.
K'vin halted, now glaring up at his bronze dragon who was
settling himself on his weyr ledge to get what sun remained.

317

Then you're as bad as the pair of them/ K'vin had the
satisfaction of seeing Charanth quail at his fury.
From now on, you are to report to me - instantly - when
any rider, or his dragon, is not one hundred per cent fit for
duty. Do you understand me?
Charanth's eyes whirled, the yellow of anxiety colouring
the blue. His tone was remorseful. I will not fail you again.
If they had been in real danger, I would have warned them
off, Meranath said, entering the conversation.
I didn't ask you/K'vin was so irate he didn't really care if
he offended Meranath, or her rider. But he was not going to
lose riders from foolish and vainglorious actions. There were
fifty years of Thread fighting ahead of them, and he was not
going to lose partners - or risk their injuries due to some
cockamamie notion of what comprises courageous actions.
If you think that I would jeopardize a single rider...
K'vin took the stairs up to the queen's weyr three at a time,
trying to work out his rage before he had to confront Zulaya
and explain why he thought he could speak to her queen in
such a peremptory fashion.
I should be informed of ANY unfit rider or dragon, at any
time, anywhere. Meranath and you should know that or, by
the first egg, why are you senior queen?
'Because I am her rider!' Zulaya came storming out on to
the weyr ledge, her eyes sparkling with indignation. 'How dare you address my
queen?'
'How dare she withhold information from ME?'
Zulaya stared at him, surprised, for K'vin had never
reprimanded either her or Meranath, though she had to admit
privately that he could have legitimately done so on several
occasions she would be embarrassed to admit.
'Did you know about P'tero's condition?' he demanded,
and she backed into the weyr, away from him. He was rather
magnificently furious, eyes blazing, face stern, the epitome of
indignation.

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'Tisha remarked that Maranis wasn't pleased with him
assuming duty. The scar tissue is thin...'

318

'And you said nothing to me?'
'He's only a blue rider...'
'EVERY ONE OF MY RIDERS IS IMPORTANT TO
ME!' K'vin roared, clenching his fists at his sides because they
wanted to grab something to release the pent-up fury in him.
'Threadfall is two days away. I need to have a Weyr in full
readiness. I need to be sure of everyone I ask to face Thread
in two days' time. I don't need secrets or evasions or...'
'K'vin,' Zulaya began, reaching out a hand to him, 'Key,
it's all right. The Weyr is ready - perhaps tuned a little too
tight, but that's all to the good...'
'ALL TO THE GOOD?' and K'vin batted her hand away,
'when we have unfit riders taking positions they couldn't
possibly manage in their condition?'
He began pacing now and Zulaya watched him, smiling with
relief and pride. He was going to be a splendid Weyrleader,
much better than B'ner would have been.
He halted just short of where she stood - his eyes, brilliant
with his anger and frustration, fixed on her face.
'What on earth can you find to grin about right now?' he
demanded - suspiciously, for there was a quality in her smile
that he'd never seen before.
'That you're in full control,' she said, leaving her smile in
place.
('Oh, I am, am I?' Then, as she had always hoped he would,
he took her in his arms and began kissing her with the full
authority of his masculinity and his position as her Weyr-
leader, without a trace of hesitation or deference. Just what
she had always hoped she'd provoke him to do.

K'vin was still very much in complete control even very early
the next morning, before dawn in fact, when Meranath told
them that B'nurrin and Shanna were waiting for them.
'Waiting for what?' K'vin asked, pulling himself reluctantly
away from Zulaya to reach for his pants. It is time to go, Charanth added.
'Go where?' asked K'vin in a querulous tone of voice.

319

'Go where?' Zulaya echoed sleepily.
South, they say, Meranath and Charanth echoed.
Suddenly K'vin remembered. Today was the day they
would go to see Thread. He said that very, very quietly in the
back of his mind where Charanth might not hear it. Both
dragons had been asleep when B'nurrin had made his visit.
Which was just as well, or the whole Weyr might have been
privy to the notion of a pre-viewing of Thread.
'B'nurrin wants us to join him,' K'vin said, giving Zulaya a
cautionary look.
She frowned for a moment, then her face cleared abruptly
as she said, 'Oh.' With a conspiratorial grin, she was out of
the bed, trailing the sheet on her way to her riding gear.
When they passed each other once in the course of dressing,

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she pulled his head down to her mouth. 'I could bring my
flame-thrower...'
'Might as well paint your destination on your forehead,' he
murmured back. 'We're only going to watch.'
'Yes, watch.' Then she asked more loudly, 'Where do we
meet B'nurrin, Meranath?'
'We know that, too, remember?' K'vin said, grabbing
Zulaya and giving her arm a little shake. Then he mouthed
'Landing.'
'Yes, how could I forget?'
If the dragon and rider on watch on the Rim wondered why
the two Weyrleaders were slipping away long before dawn,
neither asked and the rider gave a cheery swing of his arm as
they passed over him.
Ianath says to count to three and then go, Charanth told his
rider, still mystified.
Landing is where we're going, K'vin replied, glancing across
the space between his dragon and Meranath. Zulaya showed
him a thumb's-up signal to signify she had had the same
message. Visualizing the arid sweep of desolate volcanic ash
from Mount Garben down to Monaco Bay, K'vin nodded his
head three times. GO!
Abruptly Charanth rumbled deep in his belly while his mind

320

said in surprised shock 'OH.t' K'vin felt him shift. Conse-
quently he was perhaps not as surprised as he might have
been to realize that the airspace around them, and Meranath
and Zulaya, was well occupied. With that extra sense dragons
had, the two had averted a collision. In fact, as K'vin swivelled
about to check, the only two Weyrleaders he didn't see were
S'nan and Sarrai, although they might well have been among
those who winked out of sight between so as not to be
recognized. K'vin caught flashes of blue, brown and even one
or two green hides in the southern sun before they dis-
appeared. Nor was this meeting composed now only of
Weyrleaders and dragons; some thirty or so bronzes and
browns were present.
The sight was too much for K'vin's sense of the ridiculous
and it was a good thing that he was clipped into his safety
harness. He was seized with such a laughing fit that he
reeled back and forth against Chhranth's neck ridges.
Had every rider on Pern been possessed of the compul-
sion to come here this morning? Of course, the particular
site of Landing was well known to all riders. But for so
many to decide independently to come here . . . Probably
every one certain he or she'd be the only ones daring
enough!
Nor was K'vin the only one laughing hard. Right now he
was more in danger of wetting his breeches from mirth - not
fright at seeing Thread for the first time. Which reminded him
why he was here. Again that realization became universal.
Laughter faded as every dragon and rider irresistibly turned
north-eastward.
It was there, too, the much-described silvery-grey haze on
the upper levels of the blue sky. Not a dragon wing moved,
not a rider recoiled as the silver stuff began to drop on to the
sea. THREAD! And so aptly called. THREAD!

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The word seemed to rumble from dragon to dragon and
K'vin had to grab hold of the neck ridge as Charanth started
to lurch towards what he had known all his life as his
adversary.

321

I have no firestone! How can I flame it? What is wrong?
Why have you brought me here where there is Thread and I
have no fire to char it!
It's all right, Charanth. We're here to watch. To see.
But it is Thread! I must chew to flame. Why may I not flame
when there is THREAD!
Glancing wildly around him, K'vin realized that he was by
no means the only rider having the same difficulty with a
frustratedly zealous dragon, rapidly trying to close the gap to
Threadfall.
l've seen enough, Charanth. Take us back to Telgar.
But THREAD? And the bronze dragon's tone was piteous,
confused and horrified. We leave. Now.t
Leave? But we have not met Thread.
Not here or now or in this place, Charanth.
It took K'vin every bit of will-power and moral strength,
and Charanth's faith in him, to overcome his bronze's im-
passioned protest. Then, all of a sudden, Charanth stopped
flying towards Thread.
Oh, all right! The tone was that of a petulant child forced
by a senior authority to follow orders totally against the grain.
What?
The queens say we must go to the Red Butte.
Then let us go there. K'vin did not question the order, being
far too glad that one was given which the dragon would obey.
The Butte was a training landmark in lower Keroon, a
laccolithic dome so difficult to mistake that it figured in
all weyrling training programmes. And there the would-be
observers managed to get their dragons to land. Even the
queens' eyes were revolving at a stiff red-orange pace, but
some of the bronzes were so distraught with anger that
their eyes pulsed wickedly, revolving at incredible speed.
K'vin was almost relieved to swing down from Charanth's
neck. But he, and the other Weyrleaders, all kept one hand
on their dragons, leg, shoulder or muzzle: some contact was
maintained. In a wide outer circle were the brown and bronze
riders who had also been 'rescued'; they remained mounted,

322

soothing their dragons, allowing their leaders the centre for
discussion.
It was M'shall who spoke first. 'Well, that was one good
idea gone awry,' he said in a droll tone. 'Great minds, all of
tlS!'
'Except for forgetting one simple rule,' Irene added, pulling
off her flying cap. Her face was still pale from the fright she
must have had.
K'vin glanced at Zulaya who was wiping sweat from her
face, so he knew none of the queen riders had had an easy
time to get their queens to insist on the disengagement.

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'Dragons know what they're supposed to do when Thread
falls,' M'shall said, nodding. And then he started to laugh.
K'vin grinned and, when he heard G'don's bass chuckle,
saw no reason to hold his laughter in any longer. B'nurrin
was howling so that he had to clutch at K'vin to keep his
balance. Even D'miel looked properly abashed, and Laura's
giggle was infectious enough to increase the volume. Beyond
the inner circle, the rest of the riders caught the joke on
themselves and joined in the laugh. It was a good release from
the fright that they had all just had.
'Did anyone happen to notice a Fort rider disappearing in
guilty retreat?' M'shall asked when the laughter died down.
He'd been checking the identity of those on the rim of this
informal assembly.
'They'd be the last to admit coming,' said Irene.
'I doubt that, Renee,' G'don said. 'S'nan runs a strict Weyr,
it's true, but I'll wager there're a few renegades among his
wingleaders.'
'I know there are,' Mari agreed, blotting her eyes which
were still merry from laughter. 'It's just such a hoot that we
all...' and she ringed them with a swirl of her hand, 'thought
to come and have a peek.'
'It's not going to inhibit any of the dragons, is it?' Laura
asked, turning pale at the sudden thought. 'Turning them off
like that?'
D'miel wasn't the only Weyrleader to dismiss that notion
derisively. 'Hardly! It's increased rider-credibility a hundred-

323

fold. They now know without doubt that what we've been
telling them since they were Hatched is true!'
'Oh, yes, it would, wouldn't it?' she said, relieved.
'I myself would like to thank the queen riders for exerting
their powerful influence on our bronzes,' G'don said with a
formal hand over his heart as he bowed to the five queen
riders.
'The advantage of having three very senior queens,' said
Zulaya, 'and two very strong-minded young women.'
Laura blushed while Shanna stood even straighter.
'All right then,' M'shall began, having taken note that most
of the male dragons' eyes were resuming normal colour and
speed. He took a step towards the centre of the sandy circle
and cupped his hands, turning as he spoke. 'All right, then,
every one of you. This is a meeting that never happened and
isn't to be referred to in any Weyr for any reason. Do you
understand me?' The response was loud and clear. He nodded
and stepped back towards Craigath. 'We'll meet...' he said
now to the other leaders, 'where Thread first... officially...
falls North.'
'We've sweep riders out all the time,' G'don reminded
them.
'And we're all very sure that S'nan has, too,' B'nurrin put
in, grinning.
'So we'll know when and where to meet again...'
'Wait a moment more, G'don,' K'vin said. 'Why don't we
rotate the wings that meet that first Fall, wherever it is?' A
little cheer from the outer circle gave instant approval to that
suggestion. 'That'll give even more riders a chance for at least

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a little experience before the individual Weyrs have to meet
Thread on their own.'
G'don paused at Chakath's side, looking around to
check the reaction to that idea. 'In hourly intervals?' he
asked.
'Make it two hours to allow wings to get properly into the
routine,' M'shall amended.
'It's not that we're green riders or anything,' B'nurrin put
in as protest.

324

'Two hours makes more sense than swapping around every
hour...' D'miel said thoughtfully.
'I'd agree on two,' said G'don. 'We'll bring the matter up
to S'nan; he deserves that much from us. I'll initiate the idea,'
and he grinned again, since S'nan would listen to him as the
oldest Weyrleader where he would summarily dismiss a
younger man. 'I'll let you know when we'll meet to make the
changes we've already agreed to.'
Red dust swirled up in a cloud around the Butte as all the
dragons leaped almost simultaneously from the ground.

325

Threadfall

Bitter cold weather and winds swept down from the icy poles
of Pern on the day that S'nan set up a meeting with the other
five Weyrleaders to discuss the rotation of wings which G'don
had suggested to him. Freezing weather was likely to do Fort
Weyr out of its chance to be the first Weyr to meet Thread
in this Fall.
That S'nan keenly felt deprived was obvious. Throughout
the meeting he paced the floor, pausing to peer out of the
slanting corridor to the sleet falling heavily into Fort Bowl.
He had only half his mind on the discussion. B'nurrin was all
but laughing, only the kicks he received under the table from
K'vin keeping him from bursting out. Not that K'vin could
blame the Igen Weyrleader, for the meeting was a charade:
each of them giving soberly presented reasons for the two-
hourly rotation while S'nan said little more than mono-
syllables. He kept his expression blank; it was Sarrai's petulant
expression that was honest.

326

'She's been dying to get all of us under her wing,' Zulaya
whispered to K'vin when the Fort Weyrwoman's face was
turned towards her anxiously pacing mate.
'Don't think she will, love,' K'vin said, the endearment
coming easily to his lips now. He sighed. 'You know,' and he
moved his lips close to her ear, 'I'm almost sorry for the old
man.'
Zulaya gave a little snort. 'I'm not!' Then she altered her

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expression to one of earnest attention as Sarrai looked over
at them for whispering.
Thread came down as black dust, sifted in with snow or
sleet. Fort sweep riders brought buckets of it for S'nan to see
and mournfully wave off. High Reaches were even more
diligent in their efforts to locate live, dangerous Thread.
Some riders even suffered frostbite, so earnestly did they
watch for the reappearance of the old enemy, although one
long piece of frozen Thread was brought for G'don to
examine. The stench of it as it melted was enough to dispose
of it completely.
By the time of Benden's First Fall - by the numbers, Ten
- the weather pattern had shifted sufficiently on the east coast
to a warmer front so that a good deal of that projected Fall
would be considered 'live' and dangerous. The call went out
to all the Weyrs of Pern.
K'vin and Telgat Weyr's two full wings of dragonriders re-
assembled in the upper right quadrant of air above Benden
Weyr, not a rider out of alignment. Below him the Weyr was
ablaze with lights in this dark pre-dawn time, lighting the
bellies of the dragons in their ranks. He wasn't sure if the
Telgat contingent got there before the units of the other
Weyrs, but they were certainly all present and accounted for
at the designated hour and in the assigned positions. Everyone
would have preferred a daylight defence, but Thread didn't
need to see to Fall. And according to Sean's reports of early
morning or late evening Falls, the silvery stuff would be
luminous enough for the practical purpose of flaming it out
of the sky.
This First Fall of the Second Pass would start across the

327

high mountains, still deep with winter snows, and would thus
fall harmlessly. Much would probably fall as black dust in the
still frigid temperatures of that area though quite likely, on
other occasions, Fall would merely be observed until it moved
inexorably down to habitable lands. Today was the exception.
The final decision by the Weyrleaders had been unanimous
- when M'shall had made S'nan put it to a vote - to ride the
entire Fall over the ranges, harmless or not, 'to see it for
themselves'. Everyone was too keyed-up over the first three
'dud' Falls to wait any longer to go into action. Of course,
some of the peaks jutted at altitudes where oxygen had
thinned to an unsustainable level even for dragons. But it
could be seen in actual descent and the general aspect of this
Fall judged.
The wings would be rotated after two hours, giving as many
as possible a chance at the 'real thing'. K'vin briefly thought
of P'tero's vain attempt to be included in the fighting force
Telgar would launch. Maybe he should have put the blue rider
in, sore ass and all, to prove that there was a lot more to
fighting Thread than having the guts to do it. But to include
P'tero would have been to exclude a perfectly healthy and
less erratic rider. K'vin had not selected M'leng of the green
riders chosen for the First Fall. That would ease any discord
between the pair: that one had gone and the other had not.
Basically, they were good weyrmates, having a reasonably
stable relationship ever since P'tero, who was the younger,

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had Impressed Ormonth.
Movement and a shift in air pressure caught K'vin's atten-
tion and he looked down at Benden's Rim.
Craigath warns us, Charanth told his rider. Three, two,
orle . . .
GO.t
The command came from many minds and many throats in
the dark above Benden Weyr. The blackness of between was
more intense but scarcely less cold than the atmosphere above
the peaks where the wings re-entered real space. K'vin was
glad of the wool fabric across his mouth and nose, though it
did not altogether warm the thin air he inhaled. Below, the

328

snowy mountains gave off a curious light of their own. Belior
was setting in the west and K'vin looked around, to the east,
and saw the baleful orb of the Red Planet, vivid amongst the
stars.
Spits of fire blossomed in the darkness all around as eager
dragons belched. Too full a belly of firestone, K'vin thought
with professional detachment, but he could hardly fault rider
or dragon for over-priming.
For two centuries they had waited for this moment:
centuries of training and lives lived so that dragons - and
riders - would be here, right now, waiting to defend Pern.
Yet this was a first, too. For Pern had had no dragons the
first time Thread had fallen. And the planet had been so close
to total disaster before the first eighteen dragons had emerged
from between above Fort Hold to flame the parasite from the
skies and give hope to the beleaguered defenders. K'vin had
always been struck by the courage - he should make P'tero
read those entries - of the despairing Admiral Paul Benden
in his diary written just prior to that magnificent triumph.
Even in his most recent reading of that journal, his throat
closed over as he read the words:
'And then that young rogue had the temerity to salute and
say, "Admiral Benden, may I present the Dragonriders of
Pern?" '
More spurts of fiery breath and every dragon head turned
slightly northward.
It comes! Charanth said, rumbling deep in his chest, a
vibration that K'vin felt through his legs. He was aware then
that the only warm part of him was what was pressing against
his dragoh's neck. His nose had no feeling of the fabric across
it. Maybe they should drop down a thousand feet or so...
and K'vin looked towards the central block of the massed
wings, where M'shall and Craigath waited. It was the Benden
Weyrleader's call, not his.
Then he saw it - or rather the mass of something lustrous
against the black of night, like a banner spread from some
distant source in the sky, a banner that rippled and spun. The
pace of his heartbeat picked up. He felt an odd coldness in

329

his guts, but it could simply be because it was very, very cold
at this altitude.

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Charanth's rumble increased and a little spit of flame spilled
from his mouth. Steady, lad!
I'm not moving! It is! And I can flame this time!
K'vin could not reproach Charanth for that snide reminder.
And, oddly enough, he also felt no fear as he regarded the
advance. There was this sense of inevitability, that he would
be here, at this moment in time, to observe this phenomenon,
to be part of this defence.
Closer and closer the waves of Thread came as the massed
wings watched. The leading edge was now falling visibly on
the mountainsides. In this cold air not even the steam of its
dissolution was visible.
Thread was falling in a steady stream, freezing dead in the
snow. A steady stream, no tangles, no bare spots.
Craigath says we regroup at the second meeting point.
Agreed.
Oddly enoug.h, K'vin did not like even to regroup, though
there was nothing Thread could have done to harm the snowy
mountainsides and it was foolish to waste time and flame here.
But it felt like retreat.
Charanth had broadcast the order and took them between.
The air was noticeably warmer at the altitude of the new
position. He rubbed at his nose and cheeks to bring blood to
the surface. Even his fingertips felt numb from the cold.
False dawn began in the east, the Red Star paling slightly
in the greying skies. And Thread suddenly looked more
ominous. More dragons spewed flame and he told Charanth
to warn them to conserve their breath.
Suddenly the wait was chafing. They had waited so long,
hadn't they? Two hundred years! When would they begin?
But Thread fell on snow, and K'vin was close enough to
Leading Edge now to see the holes it made in the whiteness.
NOW! Craigath's command reached K'vin's mind in the
same moment that Charanth roared, full flame erupting from
his mouth, as he beat his wings to power his forward surge.

330

K'vin clutched at the flight strap, felt frantically for the rope
that tethered the firestone sacks to the neck ridge in front of
him, and clamped his knees as tight as he could to his bronze!
His right arm raised and pointed forward, as if any rider had
missed Craigath's command or the roars that emerged from
dragon thoats across the sky.
They were flying in ranks, Telgar being the second and
slightly behind the uppermost wings which were from High
Reaches. There was sufficient air between the two layers of
dragons so that flame from one level would not interfere with
another; and a corridor for manoeuvre as well. Every Weyr
had drilled its wings for this strategy until it was instinctive to
stay within the plane assigned them.
The moment when Charanth's breath sizzled up descending
Thread was a transcendental experience for both partners.
Charanth sustained his flame magnificently, crossing this
cordon, and then they were out, beyond Thread's fall and
turning. K'vin spared a glance at the rest of his wings and
saw them pivoting simultaneously, all those long, long hours
and years of practice resulting in a perfect manoeuvre. His

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heart was like to burst in his chest with pride. Below and
above him, other wings were turning, all now flaming to
catch the next band of falling Thread. And the next. And
the next.
Meranath and the others are here, Charanth announced,
dropping his head to peer far below.
They are? Turn. K'vin looked below and saw the unmistak-
able arrow of golden bodies in their low-level position, the
flame-throwers which the queen riders used spouting here and
there as they disintegrated stray strands escaping the higher
ranks.
Does Meranath fly well?
Meranath flies very well, Charanth said proudly.
Tell the wings it is time to execute the first change-over, K'vin
said. He swivelled his body around to watch that manoeuvre,
holding his right arm up high, sweeping his eyes across
Telgar's wings. He dropped his arm and counted nine or ten
dragons still flaming. Then they, too, went off. He counted to

331

five and suddenly full wings flew behind him. He raised his
arm high in recognition of their arrival, which was all he had
time for because the wall of Thread advanced to flaming
distance and Charanth was ready with his fire. So far he could
find no fault with the performance of Telgar's wings.
It seemed no time after that when he realized his sacks of
firestone were empty, and he had Charanth call for more. It
surprised K'vin to notice that they had flown from night into
day, for the sun slanted right into the eyes as they flew east
again. There was good reason to use tinted glass in the
goggles.
Z'gal and blue Tracath made the drop, swooping in neatly
just above his head and depositing the new sacks across
Charanth's neck. K'vin pulled the release knot of the empty
sacks and saw Tracath swivel and dive beneath Charanth,
Z'gal deftly catching the limp ones and disappearing instantly
between.
Tell Tracath that was well done, K'vin said.
They were over the northern-most edge of Benden now,
above pasture lands, forests and small farming holds. The
need for accuracy and complete destruction of Thread was
more crucial now. The queens' wing was more visible, gold
against the dark green or brown of fields not yet verdant with
spring growth.
Sacks had to be replenished again. He called in the
second change-over of wings, only then realizing that he was
beginning to tire.
Are you all right, Charanth?
I flame well. My wings beat strongly. We are together. There
is no problem.
The calm, strong tone of his bronze was like a tonic. Yes,
they were together, doing what they had been bred and
maintained to do.
Meranath says we are over Bitra Hold now. They were
turning west again, back for another run. K'vin did notice that
there seemed to be less Thread falling now, even gaps
between the sheets of it. This Fall is nearly over?
K'vin wasn't sure if Charanth was pleased, surprised or

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332

disappointed. He, for one, was enormously relieved! He had
survived the ultimate test of the Weyrleader.
They did one more pass eastward and then there was no
more Thread visible above. A cheer echoed from rider to
rider, and all those within K'vin's range pumped both arms
in jubilation.
We should land at Bitra Hold, in case we are needed for
burrows that might have escaped us, K'vin told Charanth. Tell
the wings well-done, and all but J'dar's may return. He will
wait with us for the all-clear. It is M'shall's pleasure to tell us
that.t Any casualties?
That was the traditional Weyrleader's query, though reports
would also be made to him during the Fall so that he could
assess what replacements might be needed.
Today only some minor burns from char. Nothing bad
enough that anyone cared to report to you.
K'vin wasn't that pleased that news had been withheld, but
he could understand the reluctance of any rider in today's Fall
retiring for a mere char burn. Now he noticed that he had
quite a few black spots on his own riding leathers, but nothing
had penetrated through to his flesh. Would that every Fall
would be so trouble-free! And the next one which Telgar
flew would show up the foolhardy. He'd have to give the
entire Weyr a hard bollocking to prevent the cocksure from
disaster.
Today the queens' wing would join the wingleaders at Bitra
Hold, though traditionally they stayed aloft to assist ground
crews.
Zulaya sought K'vin immediately she was on the ground
and embraced him, seeking his mouth to kiss him with
enthusiasm.
'We did it! We did it!'
'This time,' K'vin said, hugging her tightly to him. He could
almost have thanked P'tero for getting him so angry. It had
done the world of good for his relations with Zulaya. The way
she looked at him now, the way she had to touch him . . .
well, they were truly weyrmates.
M'shall was moving among the riders, slapping one on the

333

shoulder, thanking each Weyrleader for participating in this
almost scatheless Fall, a wide smile plastered on his face.
'I'd say that this was a normal Fall,' S'nan was saying rather
portentiously.
'How can we possibly tell?' G'don asked.
'The records, man, the records,' said S'nan, glaring. 'It's
exactly as Sean described Fall #325, in his records of 11 AL.
Exactly.'
'Oh, Fall #325?' asked B'nurrin, his eyes dancing. 'Myself,
I felt it was more like #499 in 12 AL.'
'B'nurrin?' M'shall's raised eyebrows suggested that the
irrepressible young Igen Weyrleader should stop baiting
S'nan.
'We got off much too easily,' said D'miel of Ista, shaking

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his head. 'I mean, we were all on a high. I for one was
expecting far worse...'
'Isn't it nice to be disappointed?' K'vin said, but he agreed
with D'miel. Everything had gone too well.
'Nonsense,' said G'don. 'We were all flying our best riders.
We've been keyed up for weeks, and nervous. And I don't
mind admitting I was,' he added, glancing around him, but he
winked at K'vin and B'nurrin. Others nodded agreement. 'So
we were very cautious. It's when we're so accustomed to the
menace that we're liable to be careless, to take unnecessary
risks, to stop watching out of the backs of our heads.'
A murmur of agreement and nods greeted that observation.
'We must never relax our guard during Fall,' S'nan
declared, again sententious. 'Never!'
'We'll have to be doubly cautious during the second
Fall over south Benden and Keroon,' Zulaya said softly to
K'vin.
'Well, I for one was pleased with the way the wings
performed. Not much got through,' he repeated. 'Between the
upper flights and the queens' wing, only four incidents of
burrow, and those were handled with great dispatch. Thanks
to Vergerin...'
The Bitra Lord Holder was directing the distribution of
Hegmon's sparkling wine to those crowding in his courtyard.

334

'Only think what might have happened if Chalkin was still
here!' Irene said, raising her glass towards Vergerin.
'Who wants to think what might have happened?' Laura of
Ista Weyr demanded, laughing with exaggerated relief.
'For one thing, we wouldn't have this champagne,' Irene
replied. 'That's for damned sure!'
'How'd you get the sparkly out of Hegmon, Vergerin?'
G'don wanted to know, cradling his glass lovingly.
'We're old friends, you might say,' Vergerin replied with a
droll grin.
'Did any wing report injuries?' asked M'shall, his expres-
sion turning sober.
'Nothing above char burns in mine,' K'vin said. And that
was what the other wingleaders reported one after another.
'Well, we're fragging lucky if that's all. Though I shudder
to think how careless the average rider can get,' M'shall said.
'We'll have to keep them on their toes.'
'And on their dragons,' his weyrmate added.
'Look at it this way,' said B'nurrin, grinning from ear to
ear, 'We've only five thousand eight hundred and fourteen
more Falls to attend, give or take a few, before it's all over
for another two hundred years!'
There was a moment of dumbfounded silence as that fact
was absorbed and then B'nurrin ducked away before the
wrath of his peers could descend on him.
'But Fall has begun,' K'vin said softly to Zulaya, standing
proudly beside him, 'and we have met the enemy again.'
'What a time to be alive...'
'And riding a dragon!'

A~nd thus began the Second Pass of
Titread on Pern!

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